


The Guilty Party

by WonderMint



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambivalent Kissing, Balloons, Fetish, Looner, M/M, Male Warrior of Light, Religious Guilt, Sad Boys in Snow, Self-Discovery, Specific Warrior of Light
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderMint/pseuds/WonderMint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aymeric had thought himself immune to desire.  It was as if he had lived his entire life insisting that the sky was only ever blue, only to see his first vivid sunset.  The truth was as shocking as it was beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fantasy Assortment

**Author's Note:**

> As with many things, this story was born out of an effort to troll someone dear. It is written as a gateway from one world to another, by someone who has already passed through and found the journey pleasant. Which world you started in is your own concern, but either way, I hope you find it infuriating.
> 
> Hikari is #notmy Warrior of Light. I wanted a male player character, again, for reasons, so to make him easily recognizable, he's just the adventurer from the opening FMVs. His personality has been constructed specifically to make this story work. My apologies if anyone finds him distracting. But you know. Trolling.
> 
>  **Warnings: kissing, some popping.** Be advised that the balloons in this chapter are looked-at and not touched. It heats up beginning with the next chapter.

Ser Aymeric was agitated.

 

There were many words to describe what he was feeling. Too many to list, though he tried. Irritated, annoyed, angry, ashamed. Perhaps excited. But agitation seemed to suit his mood the best. His skin was crawling with the urge to get out of the large hall, into the chill evening air where nothing could harm his once-placid demeanor. But he could not. He had a promise to keep.

 

It was Lord Haurchefant's nameday. Though he was certainly old enough to know better, he had decided to throw a _party_. Aymeric blamed it on the odd habits of the adventurers that passed through so frequently, all of whom seemed to think it a splendid idea. One in particular, the most famed of their number, had exerted inordinate influence, going so far as to obtain a large supply of exotic imports from Ul'dah. A new type of decoration that had recently come to popularity in ceremonies of devotion. The lord was ecstatic with the idea, and he and his warrior friend had been deep in their preparations by the time he had arrived in Camp Dragonhead. As one of Haurchefant’s closest friends, he had of course promised to attend.

 

He should have known better, by now, than to indulge the man. But not even he could have expected the outcome.

 

 

 

The day had not been pleasant. Snow had been exotic and beautiful in his youth, kissing the peaks of Abalathia's Spine and descending on Coerthas only in the most magical winter nights. Now it was the Calamity's curse, ensuring that every trip out of the Holy See was wet, cold, and thoroughly miserable. When he arrived, Haurchefant greeted him as ever with open arms and warm smiles, touches just a little this side of too-friendly. Aymeric bore it with mild indifference, as was his habit, murder being quite out of the question.

 

He had hardly had time to commend his chocobo into the care of a stable-hand before the lord had dragged him away by the wrist. “Come, come, let me dress you. I simply will not allow you to attend in your formal attire. You are far too serious for far too much of the time,” he had said. He led him through halls of dreary stone to his own room, chattering happily about his tame adventurer and their grand plans for the evening.

 

He had never admitted it as such, but it was quite obvious that the storm-wild man was in love with his Warrior of Light. Ever since Hikari had rescued Lord Francel—at the last moment and with great dramatic flair, if Haurchefant's account was to be believed—he had been a source of some fascination on the part of his friend. Truthfully, he was glad, and not merely because he liked to see the man happy.

 

“Did you bring me a present?” the lord had asked in his chambers, with a teasing grin that indicated he knew well the answer. Haurchefant was thinking, leaning against the back of the couch by the fire and eying him speculatively, as if he were undressing him in his mind and re-clothing him like a doll. He was more cheerful than usual today, which was saying quite a bit. Rather than his usual chain-mail, ever-ready for a dragon incursion, he had worn a fetching white shirt with deep blue embroidered accents. The colors made his candy-blue eyes seem even brighter, and accented the youthful exuberance in his features. If Aymeric had been inclined, he might have thought it made him look quite handsome. As it was, he merely noted that it seemed to suit him. He looked more like himself. Playful, boyish, and willfully innocent of the evils of the world.

 

Aymeric just scowled and stripped his cloak and pauldrons, letting his outer clothing dry by the fire while he fished out a towel. His hair did not seem long unless it was wet, which meant inky strands of it were drooping over his eyes and down to his shoulders, much of it tangled and stuck together. He knew he would need to remove his tunic soon, but he had long since learnt that Haurchefant was not to be trusted, so he put it off as long as he could. “Perhaps if you were five summers old, I might have,” he groused. “Count yourself grateful that I am in attendance.”

 

The lord grinned slowly, in measured steps, as if that were precisely the answer for which he had hoped. It was not a little disturbing. Reading Haurchefant's smiles was like reading bird entrails, in that they often carried ill portents, and often left Aymeric feeling mildly queasy. “Then perhaps I shall request a present, and absolve you of your guilt,” he said, confirming the knight's augury. Ill indeed.

 

Guilt was a powerful word, and the devout commander had to struggle against the sudden urge to give in to whatever the other man demanded. Instead, Aymeric lifted one fine eyebrow to glare at him, before tossing away the towel and wandering to the looking glass to arrange his hair, hoping at least to look less like the madman Haurchefant was. “Make your request that I may deny it, and we can get on with your ungodly revelry.” The sooner it was done, the sooner he could make penance for all the hateful thoughts he was likely to have as the night wore on.

 

Haurchefant smiled, smiled all the way to his teeth. He looked like the world's happiest crocodile. “Give me a kiss,” he said, unleashing the request like hounds after a hare. “That’s all. Just one.”

 

Aymeric went absolutely still, hands frozen in midair while he smoothed out the worst of the tangles, not vain enough to think of the need for a brush. His eyes narrowed as if the man had been a threat, looking at him sidelong as if motion would cause the lord to pounce. The larger man was still sitting against the couch, relaxed and a little languid, the hard muscles of his frame seeming to soften and melt in the firelight. His smile was less predatory now, or perhaps more, having closed over his teeth but widened into a thin malicious curve. Sky-blue eyes flashed at him, half-lidded and dangerous.

 

It was a jest. But he had long ago learnt that Haurchefant only joked when he meant it sincerely.

 

He did not want to kiss anyone, of course, much less his closest friend. He had long been quite aware that Haurchefant fancied him, though he had done everything in his power to dissuade the man. He had felt lately that they had settled into a comfortable stalemate. The lord had never allowed his desires to interfere with their friendship, and it wasn't as if Aymeric feared him. He simply accepted the odd inappropriate touch or scandalous comment as the inevitable result of consorting with such an uninhibited free spirit.

 

It was infuriating, and occasionally mortifying, but he was a martyr for the man. Regularly sacrificing his dignity on the altar of their friendship. Dying in shame and rising to anger with every night spent together, in the sacrament of food and drink and wit over which they frequently bonded.

 

He had hoped the appearance of the Warrior of Light might mean he would finally be distracted from the chase. Then an odd hopeful thought occurred to him. Perhaps it was a request for a kiss _goodbye_. Perhaps Haurchefant was ready to move on. If the man did not carry his strange flame for him, but for another, perhaps he could finally find a happiness of a sort.

 

“Just one?” he found himself asking, taking himself quite by surprise. “Then you will be happy?” But he knew the answer even as he asked. He knew full well that he could not bring the other man happiness, had known it for quite some time. Tonight could be no different.

 

Perhaps some pearls were worth the price, and some were obtained at too great a cost.

 

The mad lord looked shocked for a moment, eyes widening and grin vanishing into the aether. “Yes. Just one, and I shan't trouble you again.” He was actually a bit sheepish now, a little alarmed and unsure. Evidently he hadn't been counting on agreement.

 

Aymeric stepped forward, breaking his spell of petrifaction and making the other man seem to shrink away. But he soon thought better of it, and allowed the knight to wrap him in his arms. He pulled Haurchefant close and simply hugged him, partly to remind himself that he truly cared about the man and enjoyed being near him, and partly to stall for time.

 

“Even if it isn't what you wanted?” He spoke to a point somewhere below Haurchefant's pointed ear, a hushed murmur for their proximity but no further implication. He could feel something, he knew, warmth and friendship and yes, trust. But it was not desire, there was no sin in it. Perhaps if he could do so without hurting the other man with phantoms of unrequited passion, he could at least get used to _this_. He was not accustomed to letting people close. But with Haurchefant, this at least felt right. Perhaps a tiny, selfish part of him had craved comfort, not caring whom it hurt or how.

 

The other man seemed to be savoring the moment as well, mayhap for different reasons, but with no great urgency. At length he saw fit to answer, resting his forehead on Aymeric's shoulder, making his neck feel naked and exposed without his cape and pauldrons to protect it.

 

“Yes. I rather think... _especially_ if it isn't what I want,” said Haurchefant softly. He sounded small and sad and frail, already mourning what he had never had to lose.

 

On the one hand, it was a demon of the lord's own making, a mad, forbidden love for which Aymeric had little understanding or sympathy. But he could not condemn him. He would ever only see Haurchefant for himself, unhinged and indecent perhaps, but his dear friend. A sinner suffering under the weight of his own crimes, but unable to put off the burden. In a way he pitied him.

 

Just then, he only wanted to protect him.

 

He lifted the other man's chin with a light touch, and tried to speak to him with the force of his thoughts. He did not love the man, but he _cared_ , no matter how often he wished he didn't. He knew, dimly, that he was about to hurt him. But at that moment it seemed almost a mercy. Looking into his eyes and seeing a river of fear and sorrow, he at least had to put his uncertainty to rest.

 

His lips were soft. He had thought the act would be wet and unpleasant, all lashing tongues and spittle, but somehow it was like a reflection of their embrace. Gentle, warm, chaste but sorrowful. He found his eyes sliding closed automatically, highlighting the strange sensations that seemed neither good nor bad, merely disconcertingly intimate. It could have been because Haurchefant had done the same, a glance prolonged and then slowly severed, but he supposed it was rather because he did not wish to remember the sight. He should have kept it brief, shortening the suffering and speeding the recovery, but he felt almost as if he owed it to the man to let him take what he needed. He could be patient, and so he did, letting the lord move slowly against him and taste his lips with a cautiously tracing tongue. The only mercy he could pay him was to keep his mouth shut, pressing softly with pliant lips but admitting him no further. It made no matter how much the other man wanted it. Even he could not be so cruel.

 

Perhaps that was why, when he had finished, the man in his arms began to tremble and weep, clinging to his shirt with fisted hands like a child afraid to say goodbye to a father on the way to war.

 

Aymeric drew him toward the couch, pulling the lord into his lap and holding him close. He made no comment, no words being capable of healing the wound he had inflicted. He just gathered him tight against his chest and tucked his head beneath his own chin, humming a soft hymn with no name and no lyrics.

 

The knight would make penance by protecting his friend until his weakness had passed. It was all he could do.

 

 

 

Now of course, Aymeric felt neither safe nor comfortable. His agitation had been building brick-by-brick. It had only begun with the breaking of Haurchefant's tender heart. The Fury was surely punishing him now, making known her displeasure at his double sin. First for the forbidden kiss, and second for causing the recipient such sorrow. If you were going to sin so flagrantly, she seemed to be saying, you should at least have made him happy. But he could never make the man happy, and it was well that they both understood that now. Perhaps his friend could finally move on.

 

The sympathetic ache in his chest had at least dulled. Seeing the man laugh and make merry at the celebration had been balm to his soul, though the guilt had remained. He had simply been quite distracted from the matter, and could no longer spare the time to think on it.

 

 

 

Holding the man as he regained his composure had left him feeling strangely jittery, almost too exposed. Afterwards the lord had mercifully let the matter drop, scrubbing the tears from his face with cold water until all that remained was a faded smile. There was nothing else to say anyhow. Aymeric would always be there, close but just out of reach, and Haurchefant would learn to live with it. He could hardly do otherwise.

 

He would not let drop the matter of his dress. He still insisted on finding more casual clothing for him, climbing through a tiny wardrobe that looked as if it would have eaten him alive were it not for the cultivating hand of a few brave servants. He emerged triumphantly, declaring a scrap of black and blue silk to have been made for him and him alone, and pressed it into his hands.

 

And then he had stepped away to keep rummaging, when Aymeric knew well that he ordinarily would have stripped the knight of his clothes and forced it over his head himself.

 

It was a black tank of a smooth shimmery silk, shoulder-less and unadorned save for the deep blue material wrapped around the waist that extended over a yalm on each side. The loose collar hung from his shoulders to bunch on his chest, lower than he'd have thought strictly decent. It revealed his rosary with its string of black beads, the traditional rough star sapphire at its apex glittering dully back at him from the full-length looking glass. It did look nice, he realized, hanging loose in some places but hugging others. It emphasized the flat plane of his stomach once it had been properly tied at his hip, as per the instructions shouted from within the wardrobe’s tangled abyss. Despite himself, Aymeric had to agree that it did seem to have been made for him, though he wondered perhaps if the tailor had mistaken him for a woman.

 

The effect only increased when the other man emerged once again, with a pair of black leather boots whose main recommendation seemed to be that they provided no protection whatever from sword or claw. Grudgingly he struggled out of his sabotons, but Haurchefant recommended he keep his long gloves. Then his friend had fetched a brush from a nearby drawer and began brushing out his now-dry hair. It was a curious feeling, tingles and pulling and too much sensation, almost as intimate as the kiss but without the complications. It left him somehow both less relaxed and more at peace, transforming physical security into wellness of spirit. A strange alchemy that he surely did not deserve.

 

“You look beautiful, you know,” the lord had said once he had finished. He had set down the brush and moved to Aymeric's side as the knight frowned at his image, looping one arm around his waist and clutching his forearm with the other as he laid his chin on the knight's shoulder.

 

“So you are fond of saying,” Aymeric returned absently. Now that he had dried, his hair hung about his bejeweled ears with its usual understated elegance, drawing attention to his shrewd eyes and aristocratic brows. He had become so accustomed to seeing himself in his formal attire that he had forgotten he was indeed fair. The roguish grin on the man at his side only enhanced the effect, the white to his black, the lance to his sword. In his own way, Haurchefant was beautiful too, strong masculine jaw and wild blue eyes, a man unhinged and untamed. When something caught his fancy he became a lion on the prowl, a predator of clever intellect and hard muscle, all hidden behind an innocent charm. Woe betide he who resisted his grin, for he would soon feel tooth and claw.

 

Had either of them the inclination, there would likely not be a woman in the realm who could resist their combined charms. The truth of the situation was as droll as it was pitiful.

 

“We should sit for a painting, you and I, looking just like this.” Evidently the lord was thinking along a similar path, his eyes tracing both of them appreciatively in the mirror, too-blue eyes shining with that predatory glint. “An hundred years hence it will adorn a palatial hall, and great men and women will look upon it and wonder. 'Who were these sons of gods, these princes among men,' they will ask. 'Surely they inspire armies to glory and bards to song. Surely ones so noble would have the whole of the world at their feet.'” And through the mirror, he smiled softly, looking at Aymeric with enough affection and pain to make his heart ache.

 

“You are full of delusions,” Aymeric had replied, closing his eyes briefly to escape the sight. Haurchefant was noble. He himself was merely efficient. Beauty made no matter, only blood, sweat, and prayer, in precisely that order.

 

“Yes, quite,” the other man had agreed, shadows seeming to lurk in the deep hallways of his eyes, though they were no longer as red from his tears. “And some days I think myself nearly happy for it.”

 

 

 

In that time, the Warrior of Light and the captive servants at his disposal had managed to transform the main hall into a palace of wonder. Paper streamers and colorful tablecloths brought riotous color to the occasion, shouting out amongst the dingy stone walls. The tables were littered with all manner of confections, and there were drinks on hand for those who enjoyed their thoughts and those who didn't both.

 

Aymeric didn't see any of that but for a brief moment, the impression burned into his mind in a flash as if he had been blinded. But he hadn't, he could see perfectly well. He merely could no longer focus on anything else, every sense trained on the overwhelming presence of the hall's other decorations.

 

Evidently this was the reason Hikari had made the journey to Ul'dah, despite being wanted for regicide and marked for death. Haurchefant had mentioned that the warrior had been most particular in selecting them, and refused to allow any but himself to see them hence. Balloons, they were called, odd alchemically-created latex balls, hollow like a soap bubble and just as buoyant. He had even acquired a small tamed bomb, an odd breed of voidkin which produced a gas that allowed it to float, and could be coaxed to fill balloons with it in exchange for sweets. It followed him around the hall like a puppy, accepting offerings of hard candy and allowing him to ruffle the spikes on its head. The adventurer seemed oblivious to the fact that all but his host gave the pair a wide berth, sometimes leaping out of chairs to stay clear of the creature.

 

For a long while, Aymeric could only observe.

 

It would not have been accurate to say that he recovered from his shock. Rather, Haurchefant had left him by the door to greet Hikari and heap praise on him for his work, leaving the knight with a moment to wrestle his thoughts to the ground. It was just enough stability to recognize that he was staring, and would draw attention to himself. This was never desirable, but just now he felt the need to keep eyes off of him. He made common cause with thieves and cats, and became a creature of shadow and unobtrusive silence. Fortunately, this was enough like his usual cold indifference that his friend hardly noticed the change, only catching his eye on occasion or pressing a drink into his hand. He was either too occupied or too heartbroken to do much more, and he spent the majority of the evening by the adventurer's side. Greeting his guests, exchanging stories, and laughing at the things only close friends understand.

 

It was bittersweet, but he was glad to see him in good hands. Whether the warrior felt the same for him or not, he was at least a good friend. That was far more than Aymeric would claim at the moment.

 

He appreciated the distance, just now. Haurchefant's preoccupation with the duties of host left him ample time to observe, to catalogue, and to begin to process what he was feeling. There was much grist for his mill, every surface being decorated with colorful apparitions. They were beautiful, objectively so. They sparkled like gems, only larger, with curves softer than any woman's. Their colors were pure and unsullied, like a field of cultivated tulips, too perfect and uniform to have grown wild, too bold and bright to be made for anything but the pleasures of the senses.

 

When they moved, he felt light himself, and he had to steel his resolve to keep from swaying when the door opened and every balloon in the hall danced in the breeze. He was enchanted by them, and more. He was cursed with some strange infatuation, and vaguely he worried that it was the work of the Fury, her wrath played out as the holy legends told. There seemed little explanation for the turbulence in his mind save madness. It was like staring down the abyss, and falling gladly into its embrace.

 

And through it all, amid the mad dance of demons playing with the tatters of his sanity, Hikari walked like a king at court, with the void-sent bomb on his heel.

 

Everywhere he went, balloons would tend to follow, and so Aymeric's gaze was drawn to his movements as surely as the ballet of the baubles themselves. Children gathered around the smiling Hyur, caring not the least for his fearsome reputation or the snarling face of his pet. And he would produce a limp latex blob from his bag, place it in the mouth of his tame bomb, and Aymeric's heart would cease to beat.

 

It was difficult to spy from so great a distance, but it was not merely the beauty of the alchemical creations that was so magical. Their inflation was... it did something to him. Something dark and unfamiliar, a little frightening, but it beckoned him all the same. It was... arresting. It arrested his thoughts, his breath, his sense. Everything ceased when he watched the little globe inflate, then begin to shine, eventually tipping upward toward the ceiling as it filled. The entire world held utterly still until Hikari finally held the neck closed, tied it with an expert motion, and leashed it with a ribbon to tie to the wrist of a begging child.

 

It was certainly frightening. But he drank in the sight like a man who knew his love of wine would kill him, but cared only to sate his thirst.

 

Somewhere between his hypnotic trance and self-recriminations, Aymeric was required to practice his arts. He was a consummate politician, well-gifted in hiding his own face to present the one the world wished to see. From time to time his cover was disturbed and he would, with reluctance and a touch of fear, greet a familiar adventurer or a friendly noble. It was a fragile thing, his attention always wandering, ever at risk of dropping his thoughts to shatter his focus upon the stone floor. He would nod, recalling names and facts and moving his mouth in imitation of intelligent speech. But in the corner of his eye a balloon would dance, and he could seem to think of little else.

 

The celebration was well-attended. For all Haurchefant's mad airs and impolitic practices, he was well-loved. Even his younger brother could be seen, though Aymeric knew the relations between the lord and his half-brothers to be somewhat strained. Lord Francel was naturally in attendance, as well as many others of House Haillenart. The two great houses had long been bound by blood, but it took a man like Haurchefant to cleave to another man’s burden even as he sank beneath the waves of despair. Another noble, when faced with the sure axe of the inquisition, would have feared for his life and family. But when all hope was lost and the young lord had been poised upon the very precipice of death, Haurchefant had not failed him.

 

In short, he was reminded in brief moments of lucid thought, Lord Haurchefant de Foretemps was a man most extraordinary. His loyalty, once gained, was never lost.

 

He almost _wished_ he could love him in return.

 

If his current curse was any guide, it would not have been a sin. Not as much as hurting him, at any rate. Not as much as crushing his heart like a blossoming edelweiss under the heel of his boot.

 

And so he floated, his thoughts moving from one perch to another like a sparrow searching for seeds in the snow. He found nothing, no reason for the rapture of his senses save theological speculation and grief. Here a spark of bright color, there a reflection of dancing flame, always bobbing and wafting on the wind, or bounced by the string in a child's hand. The sparrow could find nothing, for there was no food upon the ground. All he had was agitation, and the splendor of the balloons he beheld.

 

The man whom he hoped would mend his friend's heart seemed to be up to the task, at least. From time to time he caught the adventurer with an arm around the lord's shoulders, sometimes leaning their heads together to share some joke. Aymeric's eyes seemed oft drawn to the center of the room where the two of them eventually settled, feasting and making merry. Not because of his guilt but despite it, because there lay the hall's greatest concentration of balloons. Magenta, green, teal, lilac, saffron, orange, an explosion of color made all the more sensual for their combination. The colors _played_ with each-other, each singing in a different voice, combining into a song that was more than the sum of its beauty. Much more, Aymeric found, the vision moving him to a depth of feeling that was nearly frightening in its intensity.

 

It did not help that the warrior could not keep still, tugging lightly on the strings to watch them dance and sway, or attaching one to Haurchefant's wrist with an affectionate smile. The both of them were as children, innocently playing with toys, and it made Aymeric's blood thick with agitation, unease. Delight.

 

And sometimes when Hikari tugged on a string, he would seem to look to Aymeric as he did so. And he would raise his brows in question, before turning away with a secretive smile, as if deliberately leaving the knight to the illusion that he was invisible.

 

The first few times this happened, the commander sought to relocate, feeling against all rational sense that his cover had been blown. But all the guests knew of his attendance, the adventurer most of all. It merely bothered him that the warrior seemed to know where he was at all times, and more that he seemed so easily able to goad him. He knew, _knew_ that no-one could possibly understand his fascination, though he feared ever that they would sense it as though it were written on his skin with aetherially-conductive ink. But eventually he forgave Hikari for the disturbance, returning his questioning glances with wary glares and grudging tolerance. There was no threat there. It was almost as if the Hyur were respecting his seclusion.

 

Aymeric didn't know the warrior well, but he _trusted_ him. He had done too much for the realm, and too much for his friend.

 

He was attractive, too, as near as he could tell, though his eyes ever strayed back to the balloons that clustered around him. Tussled brown hair that seemed to glow orange from their reflected light, soulful blue eyes, a jaw that walked the line between strength and beauty. Where Haurchefant's looks were roguish and rough, Hikari had the fair boyish charm of a young Midland Hyur, making him seem almost too slight or too innocent to swing his terrifyingly large battle-axe. Aymeric knew, of course, that he was the most fearsome fighter in the room, and so did most of the guests. The Warrior of Light was legendary, both for his strength and his pure heart. His handsome face and easygoing personality only helped the stories to spread, his name now known across the realm, feared and respected even among those who sought to see him harmed. It was little wonder that he had strode so boldly into the markets of Ul'dah, when the Blades and Braves both had put a kingly purse on his head. There was scarcely a person in the realm who could have given him cause to fear in a fight, fair or otherwise.

 

Accordingly, the man was flamboyant, even by the standards of adventurers. He seemed completely at home surrounded by brilliant baubles, nearly as bright as a balloon himself. He had exchanged his magically-augmented armor for more casual clothing, as Aymeric and Haurchefant had done. Over a pair of black trousers, he wore a short white yukata, a sort of seasonal Doman robe casually tied at his hip. Bright orange and red designs covered the lower portion, images of bombs like the one that followed him dancing across the fabric, and a pair of glowing lanterns that grinned in lifelike imitation were tied at his waist. He had, in essence, played on the theme. There was even a sculpted charm hanging from one of his ears, a tiny bomb in miniature that bobbled around with every movement of his head.

 

Hikari was always playful, whether he was showing off his wardrobe or tussling with his chocobo. He was playing _now_ , tapping on the taut surface of a lilac balloon and watching it cascade against its mates in the bunch. They all recoiled from it in different directions, before swinging back together as if they could not bear to be apart. Then they seemed to shuffle, renegotiating their positions, jostling and bumping until at last they settled together. And the warrior would grin and take a bite of cake, perhaps stealing it from Haurchefant's plate, and then tap another balloon.

 

And then, perhaps, his eyes would trail once again to meet Aymeric's, and he would smile knowingly, as if at some secret joke, before returning to his play.

 

The Warrior of Light carried the burdens of all of Eorzea, but he never meddled, only lent his hand in times of need. He was as loyal as the lord whose heart he had captured. He was a free spirit, a force of nature, a child at play. Unlike Aymeric, he would let nothing stop him from being there for Haurchefant. Not sin, not fear, certainly not appearances. Definitely not sanity, or sense, or self-restraint.

 

Time would only tell whether he could be more for him than a friend.

 

Time did not seem to be on Aymeric's side. It seemed to be working against him, rubbing salt into his wounds as he ticked away the interminable bells to the party's end. The balloons were no longer merely hypnotizing him. They were calling to him, dancing like faery-lights just beyond his grasp, mad puppets moved by the strings in Hikari's hand.

 

Somehow, Aymeric knew, Hikari was their master. And as much as he feared them, he desired them. So, like the children, he found himself under the warrior's spell, following him with rapt attention from within the shadows whenever he moved from Haurchefant's side.

 

It was the bomb that was his undoing.

 

A child, a petite Elezen girl, long golden curls pouring over her shoulders, tugged on the adventurer's yukata. And he had stopped, placed his hand upon her head and ruffled her pristine locks until she looked like she'd been roughhousing with the boys. His smile was beautiful enough to soften any indignity, though, and when he gathered the voidkin in his arms and placed a balloon to its lips, it was not only the child who was excited. She jumped from foot to foot in anticipation, and Aymeric merely bit his lip, unable to close his eyes against a sight that made him want to groan with frustration and unease.

 

The little voidsent took the balloon between its jagged toothy lips, and blew, transforming the lump of lifeless latex into a great jade gem, pure and shining. It was achingly beautiful, a hurt he felt in his entire body, from his toes to the tips of his ears, prickling with warmth. Gradually it took shape and took flight, becoming an ovoid instead of a sphere and lifting into the air like a nestling unsure of the direction of the sky.

 

And then it was no more.

 

It was loud, even from across the hall, the sound of an explosion that made half the guests cower in fear, perhaps thinking the bomb itself had exploded. But it was the balloon, the synthetic one, not the creature from the abyss but the one that called Aymeric's soul.

 

He did not see it go. It was too fast. But it was loud, sudden... powerful.

 

Suddenly Aymeric did not trust himself to stand upright.

 

He ducked behind the pillar in whose shadow he had hidden, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning against the stone, taking comfort in the roughness and cold against his bare shoulder blades as his only lifeline to reality. Something had happened, something terrifying and amazing. He was trembling, he knew. His hands shook and his left knee didn't seem to want to lock properly.

 

The worst part of it was, he wasn't certain that he didn't want to see it again.

 

He stayed that way for some minutes, seeking surety in the kiss of rock, listening to the giggles of the children. Gradually his breathing calmed. But when at last he opened his eyes, Hikari was looking at him. No longer in the hall surrounded by friends and children, but here, in his seclusion, observing first-hand his distress.

 

The warrior was still giving him his space. He was a few yalms away, standing in the shadow of another pillar, where only Haurchefant might think to look for him. And damn it all if he didn't look just as amazed, as he studied Aymeric with his knowing blue eyes.

 

Before Aymeric could retreat, Hikari held up his hands in a gesture of peace, backing away a few paces and looking away. It seemed at first that he did so to calm him, as one might do to convince a dog that they were not a threat, but Aymeric didn't have time to feel insulted. The warrior's eyes lit upon a table set against the wall, laden with half-empty drink cups and a bowl of candy. And to it he strode, looking back to the knight meaningfully, making a show of his actions and making certain his audience attended.

 

With his left hand, the warrior removed his earring. The miniature red bomb wobbled from its hook even as he set it down, to lie sideways on the table as if the creature had been defeated in battle.

 

With his right hand, Hikari produced the object the knight had consciously followed every time it had been in view. A white silk bag which Aymeric knew well was filled with uninflated balloons. This he held over the table, directly next to the earring... then moved it a few ilms to the side before setting it down. He glanced back to his audience, smiling gently. Nonthreatening, perhaps, though Aymeric could not help but feel nervous merely by the expedient of being observed.

 

And then the adventurer turned on his heel and walked away, without a backwards look, leaving both the earring and the balloons for the agitated knight to do with as he would.

 

To say that Aymeric was astonished would be an understatement. He was shocked, and not a little frightened. He was agitated, stirred up like a tempest in a soup pot. He was nearly sick with the feeling, as if he had been colonized by ants, digging tunnels beneath his skin and making his wants feel alive. He was astonished and agitated and more. He was careening beyond the bounds of agitation into the waters of madness and fear.

 

Unlike the kiss of bells past, these feelings did not seem innocent. They settled low in his body, made him quake and tremble, made his stomach roil with turbulent desires. It was unfamiliar, and unwanted, and unholy. But he could not ignore it.

 

Hikari had presented him with a choice, or rather two choices. He did not understand either, nor their implications, but he knew his answer just the same.

 

Like the patrons that had frequented the table earlier, Aymeric was uninterested in concessions. Rather he migrated toward it automatically, like a salmon to the place of their death, because it held what he truly sought. The second choice, the bag of balloons. The very source of his fixation.

 

He snatched up the bag, tucking it into the band of his trousers, not even bothering to find a pocket, too worried that somehow his movement would be remarked.

 

And he paused.

 

The first item had been left very deliberately for him. A piece of fine craftsmanship, belonging to the adventurer. It had the scent of an offer, of understanding. Of the knowing look Hikari had bestowed upon him, as he trembled in the lee of the pillar, trembled in fear of his own amazement.

 

He was afraid, and so he should not have taken the earring. But as his fingers closed around it, he understood that he took it precisely because he was frightened. He wondered if the other man had, in his maddeningly cautious way, offered to help him with his fears.

 

He didn't know what that would entail, but at the moment he did not care. He was gone as quickly as he could manage it. Haurchefant would forgive him for leaving. He would forgive everything, in time. Just now, Aymeric needed to be a thousand malms hence, or at the very least, alone. He should have fled from his desires, but he fled instead from the light of reason. Hikari had given him the final push, mayhap the key. He would follow his instincts where they led, find out what compelled him so in the hope that in so doing, he could break the spell.

 

He knew it was irrational. But if it could calm his madness, Aymeric was willing to howl at the moon.


	2. Standard Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There have been some questions about pairings. When I first posted it, it didn't occur to me that the pairings would be much of an issue, since for me it isn't about romance. The characters do certainly have some complex feelings on the matter, of course, which will become clear in later chapters. All three potential pairings in the Aymeric/Haurchefant/WoL triangle are present in some way. I'm leaving the details as a surprise, except to say that I won't be writing any Haurchefant/WoL sex here.
> 
> The real action involves balloons. Subsequent chapters will involve conventional sex as well, but it will ALL be primarily about balloons. This isn't just light kink, it's a fetish in its own right. That being said, I've written it with the intention of accessibility from either side. I would really appreciate it if you let me know what you think, whether you share the fetish or merely wandered in for the sex.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings: masturbation, inflation, popping.** The pop occurs near the end of the chapter. The characters will warn you shortly before it occurs, so if you'd really like, you can read until then and then pretend the rest doesn't happen I am trying to figure out if there's a good way to strip popping out of these without re-writing them entirely or driving myself crazy, and where I might post them if so. If this is something you feel like you need, even if it's just redacted, drop me a note and I will take it into consideration.

Back in the safety of his private room, far away from Haurchefant's own, Aymeric could only stare at the bag in apprehension. It lay limply on the table, next to the adventurer's grinning earring, neither offering any solution as to the reason for Aymeric's agitation. It was almost an _insult_. The Lord Commander prided himself on his self-control and focus, and he  did not enjoy being deprived of either, especially by some harmless, inanimate _thing_.

 

And yet, here it was. A bag of latex baubles, which he had so coveted in the banquet hall, now mocked him from the safety of his own tea table. He had thought once he had secreted the things away, their use would become clear, and he might begin to  tidy the chaos in his mind and reorder it into the neat, untroubled stacks of thoughts that mirrored the work upon his desk. Instead his anxiety and fear remained foremost in his mind. He should have drawn one from the bag by now, perhaps attempted to inflate it. It should not have been a difficult task. But he could not bring himself to attempt it, could not willingly flirt  with danger.

 

It should have been the simplest thing in the world. A children's toy, an inert product of alchemical science. But  even removed from Hikari's clever fingers, it seemed as daunting a foe as Aymeric had ever faced.

 

Before he worked up the courage to either investigate further or toss it in the fire, there was a knock at the door. It was not  _entirely_ unexpected, but it made him jump all the same, made his hands tremble uselessly in his lap as he  licked his lips and wondered how to respond. But after taking a steadying breath, his eyes alighted once again on the earring on the table, and so he picked it up and stood to greet his guest.

 

Then he stopped. His eyes traveled instead to the bag of balloons, and he felt suddenly exposed. So he obeyed the paranoid impulse that made his fingers twitch, and stuffed the bag between the cushions of the couch. It was irrational, but he was prone to irrational thoughts of late, and was at least relieved that the action brought him a small measure of peace.

 

He approached the door, but stopped just short of opening it. Instead he leaned his forehead against the cool polished wood. “Who is it?” he called, hardly having to feign the exhaustion in his voice. He wished he could simply go to sleep and wake up the same as he ever was. Unharried by strange urges, resolute in his focus.

 

“Hey, uh, it's me,” came a familiar voice. “I dropped my earring earlier, I was wondering if you happened to find it?” It was stilted and awkward, and a little shy. It reflected Aymeric's inner turmoil just enough that he pulled open the door, staring out through the crack at the man on the other side and wondering if he truly wanted the visitor for whom he had evidently volunteered.

 

In the hallway, wearing an expression of cautious concern, was Hikari. Slayer of primals, do-gooder extroardinaire, man of uncertain allegiance and no steady employment, persona-non-grata in every hall of government and diplomatic office save any that truly mattered.

 

The Warrior of Light.

 

As he had when he had left the earring for Aymeric to take or leave, Hikari had left him a choice. The bomb-shaped earring was in his hand, smooth and cool against his palm, the curved silver hook dangling beneath. He could merely hand it over, close the door, and the adventurer would trouble him no more.

 

“Or I could come in for a little while, if you wanted to talk. You seem like you have something on your mind,” Hikari said quietly, as though answering Aymeric's very thoughts. His deep blue eyes were as soulful as ever, seeming to flicker over the knight's face with gentle care and take note even of the feelings he'd kept carefully hidden.

 

Anxiety stirred within his breast. He was feeling jittery, exposed, even through the narrow beam of light that shone from the hallway and played across his body in the darkened room. He licked his lips, opening the door slightly wider only to stare down the hallway. There were no enemies in sight, but wariness and confusion still thrummed through his blood.

 

“I've uh, put Cherry to bed. She had too much cake,” explained the adventurer through a soft grin. As if his surface amusement were obscuring some other emotion, a figure lurking behind stained glass. Yes, that was what had been missing, the little kinderbomb. Of course the adventurer would have named it... and assigned it a gender... and fed it cake... and tucked it into bed like a child's doll. It was all quite natural.

 

It was what Haurchefant would have done, after all.

 

Aymeric scowled darkly, misliking the reminder of his sin and not entirely sure why it made him want to lash out and strike the other man. He wished they would just get over whatever strange courtship they were contemplating and lie together already, so he could stop thinking about it and stop feeling like he had crushed the one good thing he'd ever known.

 

He had too many feelings to keep hold of at once. It was not the adventurer's fault, he was only trying to help. But he felt put upon from all sides, and he was not far removed from his fear. So, tasting the sting of surrender, he extended his hand through the crack in the door. He should perhaps have said something. But he could not even manage that, merely handing over the earring with the grinding of his teeth and a sticky feeling in the back of his throat.

 

It was all he could manage not to glare at Hikari as though the man had been the source of his confusion in the flesh.

 

“Thank you,” said the adventurer softly, letting his brows dip only briefly in sadness. “Let me know if you change your mind, 'kay?” And he stood regretfully by while the commander quietly closed the door on the one person who seemed to understand his madness.

 

He was alone with his thoughts.

 

Aymeric _needed_ to be alone with his thoughts. He needed to chew them into manageable chunks and begin to understand what he was thinking. But they roiled like snakes, refused to hold still to let him think. He leaned helplessly against the door, his hand still frozen to the deadbolt that he had thought would secure his safety but in reality only locked him into the terror of his own mind.

 

He remembered the bag, and his strange, unfamiliar feelings, and he remembered that he _had_ hoped Hikari could shed light on his troubles. While he no longer felt the unease of the other man's eyes upon him, a part of him was disappointed that he would not be getting help from the adventurer after all.

 

It was ridiculous, of course. There was no way that the Hyur even knew the source of the problem, much less could shed any light on how to cure his madness.

 

And yet Hikari had _seemed_ to know something, watching him all through the night, and appearing like a phantom at the moment of his greatest distress. He had watched him with quiet gravity, as if he knew just how much his soul was tormented. And then, at the last moment, he had left Aymeric alone. He had given him the object of his fixation and the means to call for help, and then allowed him to retreat like a wounded bear to his den, to lick his wounds and growl out his pain.

 

But the strangest piece of the puzzle by far... was that the man had been _playing_ with the balloons. No-one else in the hall had seemed to quite understand their haunting allure, not even the children who tied them to their toy knights and pretended they were airships. But Hikari had seemed to understand, seemed to know, seemed to _delight_ in it. Seemed to sympathize, as if he had somehow known the reason Aymeric had chosen to view them from the shadows rather than risking a touch that he feared might well burn him alive.

 

No. If anyone could help him, it was the Warrior of Light. He didn't want the man to view him unfavorably, but he had already proven that he would not. He was too kind, too empathetic, too pure and good. Too damn _helpful_ , as if his spirit were ever drawn to people in need, and could be nourished only by soothing their ills.

 

He could at least give him a chance. It had been only a few minutes, perchance he had not gone far. The commander certainly hadn't, leaning startlingly bare shoulders against the smooth lacquered wood like a dog waiting for his master to open it. He shook himself to action, throwing open bolt and door both, and bounding into the hall as if there he might find his sanity. He didn't see the warrior, which wasn't that surprising. There had been ample time for him to disappear down the corridor and into the cold night, perhaps to the dining hall... or to Haurchefant's chambers.

 

There was a bare moment of indecision in which Aymeric debated whether to charge after him, or disappear once again into his den. It was a much harder choice than he would have anticipated, a blanket of silent dread falling upon him at the idea of facing his problem alone, even as he misliked the prospect of going fishing for the man in public where any passing pair of eyes might read his vivid distress.

 

He was saved from the choice. Only a few seconds of blank panic passed before the knight heard a quiet cough, and he turned to see Hikari leaning casually against the wall by the door. He had missed the Hyur only because he had turned the other way down the hall, expecting to see him in the direction of the exit, rather than the dead-end passage further into the guest quarters.

 

The adventurer grinned, softly, happily. Triumph, but triumph shared, rather than prized from a foe. “Hey there. You up for that talk, then?” He shifted his bent knee to set both feet solidly upon the ground, but stayed where he was. Waiting, it seemed, for an invitation.

 

Even then, Aymeric was loathe to give it. His quarters were his final refuge, the place where, if all else failed, he could lie in wait for his madness to pass, secure that none would know his torment. But loneliness had not helped him. It had multiplied his suffering like echoes in an empty hall.

 

If necessary, he could ask Hikari to leave. In theory, having the man inside his room was little different from the present situation. If he had truly wanted to make a nuisance of himself, it was like that the door would not stop him. The commander had a suspicion that even when it was not visible, the axe was not far from the warrior's grasp.

 

And so, grimacing only slightly and taking one final glance down the hall, Aymeric granted the permission the warrior sought. He nodded once, lightning-quick, as if by its speed he could temper the reality that he was admitting a potential threat to his only refuge.

 

This time he locked the door with the adventurer within, and for some reason he counted himself less afrighted for it.

 

Hikari had not seemed overly ruffled in the corridor, had appeared to be his usual, easygoing self. But here in Aymeric's room he was visibly more relaxed, moving languidly like a coeurl. “Thanks, I know how hard this is,” he said. “You won't regret it, I swear.” He walked further into the room and flopped onto the couch by the fire, an artless motion that was somehow so casual as to seem poetic.

 

The adventurer was the realm's strongest warrior, his might uplifiting or condemning entire nations. Yet he was still nothing but a boorish sellsword, no better than a Limsan pirate in manner and taste. The knight sometimes forgot that, owing mostly to the Hyur's wise habit of letting Alphinaud do the talking for him. As if to prove it, he shifted on the couch and tipped his head back, looking at Aymeric upside-down over the chair's back. He patted the top of the cushion beside him, as if inviting a cat to sit in his lap.

 

Aymeric closed his eyes to compose himself, fighting away his uneasiness before stepping toward the couch. He rested his hands against the back and stared impassively down at the man who might have been his salvation, wearing his cool expression like a mask. Beneath it, he fairly trembled.

 

“I would fain have your assistance... if you truly understand the cause of my distress,” Aymeric said, edging cautiously around his unease. Perhaps he needn't fear this man, an outsider, who cared little for convention or holiness. But he would throw himself into the Witchdrop ere he freely admitted his infatuation, to man, beast, or adventurer.

 

“It's the balloons, of course,” volunteered the latter option, his voice rising in answer rather than humor. “They _affect_ you, and now you're all confused. You brought the bag I gave you, right? Let's see.” And he gestured toward the cushion again, and this time Aymeric was out of reasons for resisting the invitation.

 

The low growl he emitted was less in anger and more a matter of his own discomfort, like the snapping of ice before the thaw. The surrealism of the night had truly reached a fever pitch. It was like a dream, where matters of no import were imbued with foreign significance, and his actions were guided by a conviction and gravity that would be ridiculous in the light of day. Idly, he wondered if he would wake soon. But he moved around the couch and sat down limply, Hikari's pronouncement having taken all fight from him and leaving him like a marionette with cut strings. He laid his bones heavily against the cushions and closed his eyes to think. Hikari left him a broad swathe of silence in which to do it, a privacy of the mind in which he could order his thoughts in peace. The warrior only turned sideways to face him, lifting one leg to cross beneath him on the cushion and draping an arm over the back of the couch.

 

Aymeric had known it all along, really. If he trusted Hikari to care for Haurchefant, he trusted him well enough to hold his own secrets. Even those that threatened to unseat his very sanity. With a resigned sigh, he reached to his side and fished out the bag from betwixt the cushions, hesitantly placing it in Hikari's hand. And he tried, just a little, to hope that the man could help him.

 

“How did you know? I can hardly place a name to it myself,” asked the knight, his eyes lingering overlong as the bag left his fingers. He needed answers, and it was a place to start.

 

“Hmm,” mused the Hyur, flashing a winning smile at the gesture of trust even as he regarded him thoughtfully. “It takes a rogue to catch a rogue, let's say.” He seemed to be watching the knight carefully, scrutinizing him with his echoing blue eyes, watching his every movement. “I see things that other people wouldn’t notice. I was watching because it was a familiar sight.” He dipped his fingers into the bag and hesitated a moment before plucking out a reddish balloon, his eyes never leaving Aymeric's, as though he might vanish if he looked away. “You seemed awfully interested in these, after all. I'm not sure you spent five whole minutes looking at anything else. Is this the first time you've seen one?”

 

Aymeric found his mouth was suddenly very dry, and that he could not, or did not wish to, meet the other man's gaze. The balloon _filled_ his attention, leaving hardly enough room for him to process Hikari's words. “... Yes,” he answered at length, only when it became clear that the man was waiting on an answer.

 

“Right… otherwise you might have known what to expect, hid it a little better,” the warrior mused. “So then you spent the night skulking around in the shadows, like a dog in a butcher shop. Every time I looked at you, you tried to find a new place to hide. After that _pop_...” the adventurer looked suddenly to the side, a guilty sort of grin creeping along his mouth as though laughing at a dirty joke, “I thought for sure you were going to run for it. And you did, at that, the moment I turned my back on a few. You high-tailed it out of there like you thought you'd be arrested. Not even a word to the birthday-boy.”

 

Aymeric blushed and nodded, brought to shame by the accuracy of the description and the recollection of the burst balloon. The last thing he'd wanted to do was to cause Haurchefant more distress, but what he had felt at that moment had been so frightening and profound that he could only have fled. He tore his eyes away from the red blob of latex, if only to scry the measure of the Hyur's sympathy. It was absolute, no ridicule in the man's gaze, only a sad sort of recognition.

 

Hikari finally allowed his attention to wander, to the selfsame object that had so captivated the knight. He was regarding it softly, almost in a daze, as if he saw something else entirely. When he continued to speak, it was in a whisper so dark it made the knight shiver.

 

“What were you planning on doing with them?”

 

Aymeric took a deep breath, one final note of confirmation before charging into the brink. He no longer had any doubt that Hikari understood his madness. “Nothing,” he answered honestly. “I haven't a clue what is happening to me.” His trembling sigh spoke volumes, frightened and bewildered and utterly lost.

 

Hikari nodded, his suspicions apparently confirmed. He regarded the knight seriously for a few long moments, seeming to be thinking over some weighty matter. He worried at his lower lip with his teeth while he stared at some point on the couch between them, barely seeming to register the silken latex he rubbed between his fingers.

 

Then he seemed to come to a conclusion. The concerned creases disappeared from around his eyes, and all signs of his inner conflict seemed to disappear. He looked at peace with himself, the vision of virtue he was sometimes imagined to be. “I could help you,” he said slowly, as if he might frighten a deer. “I went through all of this years ago, and it was _hell_. But I was alone, and scared, and too young to know differently. You don't have to do this alone, if you don't want to. I can help you. But you need to promise that if you ever need me to stop, or give you space, you'll tell me. Can you do that?”

 

Aymeric blinked, taken aback by the gravity of the request, and the seriousness with which the Hyur delivered it. He was gentle, it was true, doing everything within his power to give no threat. But while his face was mild and his words were caring, there was a hard set to his jaw, and not a drop of humor in the oceans of his eyes. At some point he had leaned forward so subtly that the knight could nearly have missed it, and his fist was clenched around the toy that had caused him such grief. Even in his colorful yukata, Hikari was revealed as the fearsome warrior he was. This was the face worn by the Warrior of Light, when he raised his axe to defend his friends.

 

There could be no doubt that he would protect Aymeric, too, and the sight of the other man's resolve brought him a measure of peace even as his words sounded warning. “Yes,” he said at last. His heart panged loudly in anticipation, like a bolt thrown into an airship's propeller. He was frightened, it was true. But he was also glad that there might yet be some vantage from which the labyrinth might become navigable, and that Hikari had offered to become his guide.

 

The man gave him a tiny smile, but looked away as he did it, clearing his throat awkwardly. It was an oddly shy gesture from a man who was frequently larger than life and without fear or deference.

 

“Full disclosure,” he declared, still refusing to meet the knight's eyes. He shifted on the couch again, setting both his feet upon the floor and crossing his arms before him protectively. “I am _very_ attracted to you. But that doesn't have to mean anything here. It's not about me.” He turned his head towards Aymeric once more, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He trailed his eyes upwards almost guiltily, as if he felt he needed permission to look upon the commander.

 

The knight felt perhaps he should have been shocked, but given the odd events of the day it was hardly a surprise. He had always known of Haurchefant's desire for him, and he had suspected Hikari might have been of a similar persuasion. That the Hyur found him attractive as well hardly merited the level of annoyance at this point.

 

That did not stop him from reacting. But his flush passed quickly, but he looked away regardless, focusing on the low crackle of the fire before the table. “I fail to see the point of your confession. I am no priest,” Aymeric said, though he failed to keep the nervous rumble from his voice.

 

Hikari's face cracked into a wide smile, glad to receive the jest. “I just thought I'd lay my cards on the table. It is relevant though,” he said, his features relaxing once again, returning to business and no longer quite so vulnerable in his manner. “I'm not sure how experienced you are, but given the circumstances, I don't blame you for being confused. What you are experiencing is _sexual attraction_.”

 

Aymeric had not been startled before. But he was now.

 

“I do not—that is, I have never,” he fumbled, suddenly dismayed all over again. His words escaped him like mice running into their holes, and though he grasped at them with his fingers there was naught that he could do. Save one thing, that is. He could certainly blush.

 

“It's alright,” soothed Hikari, one hand raised, palm-outward, to placate. “I'm not going to judge you. Never. And if anybody else tries to make you feel ashamed, I swear to you I'll hit them so hard they'll think I summoned Titan.” He flashed a grin, gentle enough that it was well apparent that the man was not laughing at _him_. And so Aymeric relaxed a trice, closing his eyes and breathing deeply through his nose.

 

He trusted Hikari. He might have thought, before now, that it was a professional trust, one warrior to another, a protector to an equal. But now, he realized, that the adventurer's need to protect was not merely one of a strong arm and a thirst for danger. He cared, and deeply. He cared like Haurchefant cared, like Aymeric cared. And with a heart as big as his axe, there truly was no cause for him to fear.

 

He opened his pale eyes again. The other man had tilted his head to the side to peer up into his lowered face, a boyish expression of hope highlighting once more his fairness and youth. “I do not experience such things,” said Aymeric calmly, willing his body to relax though he bared his soul. “Would that I could. But even when I wish that I could love, I cannot, and now I fear I reap the rewards for breaking a dear friend's heart.”

 

It was not as if he did not feel arousal. But it was never in response to any particular stimulus. Pretty smiles and tight clothing did nothing for him, no matter how shapely the bosom or curved the hips. It happened, on occasion, that his body reminded him that it had needs. He had learned to calm it with physical action, a mere bodily function that required periodic attention. There was never any desire to it. There was never any goal he yearned for, no touch of lips or warmth of flesh.

 

The adventurer's smile morphed subtly, to one of gentle empathy. It was almost pity, only Aymeric could not derive condescension from the care in his eyes. “Yes, Haurchefant mentioned he kissed you,” he said wistfully. “I don't blame him, really. But you shouldn't feel bad for turning him down. You can't help how you feel.”

 

The knight's long, hawkish eyes sharpened like mythrite daggers. “And I am certain you derive no benefit from his loss,” he said. He was proud to have kept the threatening growl from his voice. But for no discernible reason, he had nearly wanted to snarl.

 

This time, it was Hikari who blushed, raising a hand behind his head and ruffling the short sandy hair to look even more careless than it already was. “I uh, admit I might be hoping for something like that,” he replied, his voice gone a little squeaky and bright as he looked anywhere but at Aymeric. “I mean he's been after me for ages, but yeah, I was thinking...”

 

He finally found his way back to look upon the knight's face, still a little flushed, grinning more in embarrassment than anything else. And somehow his canny eyes softened even more to behold him, and his grin became almost sad. “I haven't said anything yet. I was planning to, but... listen. You're more important right now. I won't tell him anything about this, that's up to you to decide. But he would understand. He cares about you, too.”

 

Aymeric quirked an eyebrow in confusion, beguiled once again by the adventurer's openness and vulnerability, such that when the silence yawned once again into the dim night, he wasn't quite certain he had understood all that had been said. He blinked a few times, warily. “What is... 'this'?” he finally ventured, letting his eyes once again rest solely on the red balloon that the warrior had never stopped caressing with nimble fingers.

 

“Oh,” said Hikari, an octave lower and unsteadily, as if he'd been startled straight into arousal. He seemed to be looking at the balloon in surprise, now, seeming nearly as awed by it as Aymeric felt. He looked young, then, not merely handsome but frail, not the terror of legend but a mere boy discovering himself for the first time. “'This' is... well,” he coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat of gravel. “It's... the most arousing thing in the whole wide world. And... if you trust me, I can show you without even touching you. If you want.”

 

When the warrior looked back up at him and licked his lips with a quick dart of his tongue, Aymeric was certain the Hyur wanted it as badly as he did. Yet it was not a request. It was only an offer, gentle blue eyes wide and earnest, head lowered to present no challenge.

 

The knight swallowed a quick intake of breath at the audacity of the statement, but he realized quickly that he should not have been much surprised. Hikari had been giving him hints and offers the entire time, leaving a breadcrumb trail around the idea and letting him circle slowly toward it. Now that he beheld the gingerbread house, he was certainly stunned. But the fear had bled slowly from him already, and he was left only with the temptation, and the trust that the Warrior of Light would see him to safety no matter what transpired.

 

He had broken Haurchefant's heart because he had been unable to love him as he deserved. He did not feel worthy of Hikari's understanding, but mayhap he was not as broken as he feared.

 

Or perhaps he was merely deceiving himself into breaking his dear friend's heart a second time.

 

“Haurchefant,” he said, his voice breaking and choking off any other objection he might have had. He would not take even his solace, not deny him a second chance at happiness.

 

Hikari's brows furrowed, drawing together in sympathy and perhaps a little pain. “If you want to tell him later, he'll understand. But this doesn't have to change anything between us—between any of us. I just don't want you to be afraid. I want to help you understand and accept it, if I can. I don't ever want you to feel ashamed of yourself. Ever.”

 

A tiny, caring smile was visible on the adventurer's lips, visible more from the shadow cast by the firelight than the actual curve of his expressive mouth. Somehow, Aymeric was so convinced by the plain emotions showing through his sea-bright eyes and the emphatic lilt of his strangely-accented voice that it seemed reasonable to give up his self-recriminations.. Hikari wanted to guard his happiness. In that moment, the knight wanted nothing more than to grant his desire.

 

“I know not what it is that you offer,” said Aymeric slowly, giving no disguise to his own frailty. “But if you have the power to calm my fear, I would fain accept. I trust you.”

 

Hikari smiled so broadly that for a moment he seemed to be nothing but teeth. “Thanks. I know just how hard that is.” It might have been a sinister sight from Haurchefant, but the adventurer held a note of tenderness and caution in his gaze that made fear quite impossible. Yes. He trusted him. Though he was likely a fool for doing so.

 

Instead of speaking further, the man moved from the couch to the smaller armchair by the fire, gaining a little distance and making the air in the room feel a little less constricting. He took a moment to settle himself, slouching languidly once more, resting one boot on the edge of the low tea table and unleashing the other leg to stretch carelessly. Aymeric hardly had time to be puzzled at the reason for the distance, as the adventurer held aloft the balloon that he had worried so long in his hand.

 

The knight no longer had any room in his mind for thoughts.

 

He stretched it out quickly, holding it in both hands and tugging a few times, an action that made questions spring up like dandelions in the summer, and then blow away in the wind. He started to raise it to his lips, catching the Elezen's gaze for a quick moment, and then... he stopped. And perhaps he even blushed, a quick flash of pink that vanished soon after.

 

“Just relax,” he said through a coy grin. “You can tell me to stop at any time.”

 

And then the red balloon was raised to Hikari's lips. The little ridge at the opening was slipped into his mouth, and he thought he saw a flash of the man's tongue for a moment before his lips closed around it, holding it tight. He held the neck loosely between two fingers, and then he inhaled and blew. One swift, long note of breath, and Aymeric felt as if he needed to gasp as if the breath were his own exhale and his lungs had been forcibly emptied.

 

All at once the little globe was filled, oddly-shaped, mottled and irregular. It made his heart do a somersault just the same, and it carried on beating as though it had broken into a run once it was righted again. The warrior had stopped looking at him at some point, eyes lowered demurely and fixed on the balloon. The light that played on his face had acquired a reddish cast, making him look as if he had broken out in a full blush, making the action seem even more flirtatious and daring than it already felt. His lips parted and glistened in the firelight, but for whatever reason no air escaped the little ball.

 

He released his hold on the neck and moved it to steady the back of the balloon, and Aymeric knew without a doubt that Hikari was as skilled with a balloon as he was with an axe. And he was _enthralled_ by it.

 

The man's eyes wandered to his for a moment, that odd shy glance that seemed so strange on the rough-and-ready warrior, and suddenly the knight became aware that the rouge on his cheeks was not all a trick of the light. It was possible that there was another blush nearby, but Aymeric was quite distracted.

 

Another sharp intake of breath, and this time the knight reflexively matched it. The next exhale easily doubled the size of the balloon, now largely translucent and seeming to glow in the firelight. Hikari was once again shyly averting his gaze, and this time the next breath came quickly. The exhale was prolonged, though, and this time he could truly see the expansion and growth. It had been too quick before, and he greedily drank in the sight. The balloon _shined_ now, glistened and sparkled with every movement.

 

He was feeling something. It was filling the corners of his mind, making him feel a little muddy and confused, but the balloon was more important just now. The room had melted away, leaving only the latex and the man who made it sing.

 

Another breath, in quick and out so slow, and this time Hikari turned to the side, arching his neck and exposing his jaw, so that he could see the entire shape grow in profile. It was fully round now, almost a teardrop, the size of a man's head or slightly larger. The hand that steadied the object retreated, stroking along the side and winding to the narrow neck to pinch it closed.

 

Aymeric sighed, and only when the other man turned to him with a coy smile did he realize it was disappointment that he felt.

 

“So,” he said, a breathless whisper that seemed to echo Aymeric's own state. “Do you like it?” And before he could even take stock, the balloon was lowered to the man's lap and an arm wrapped around it protectively, the other still holding it securely closed.

 

For a moment all he could think about was whether that meant he was not done inflating it.

 

“I...” he floundered for a moment, words prompting him to thought rather than the reverse. “I feel most strange. Unfamiliar.” He swallowed around saliva that seemed too liquid in his mouth, unsure even whether he enjoyed the sensations. All he could truly say was that he was riveted to the sight.

 

“Excited?” The suggestion was not teasing in the least. The warrior was quite serious, his eyes soft and welcoming. Aymeric became aware that his own lips had parted and he was pulling short little gasps of air as though he were winded. He swallowed as soon as he became aware of it, trying to keep his mouth closed but succeeding only in running his tongue along his teeth. Hikari's eyes followed the movement, seeming to pant a little himself.

 

Yes. He was excited. It was an odd feeling, foreign, new. He closed his eyes and lay his head against the couch, trying to fight the feeling back, feeling as if he were batting at cobwebs and only tangling himself more. His trousers felt tight and constricting, a condition with which he was rarely afflicted. He was _very_ excited. He was more excited than he'd ever been.

 

“Yes,” he said through his embarrassment, and all of his surprise and unsteadiness seemed to express themselves in his hoarse whisper. “This is... I have not felt this before.”

 

Hikari regarded him almost guiltily, letting his eyes trail along the length of his body and then looking away as if he could undo the action. Aymeric was beginning to have the distinct impression that he was being flirted with. Whatever strange, unholy thing the balloon was doing to him, seemed to have a similar effect on the warrior, making him blush as though he were courting a maiden. But the knight could not bring himself to care, too fascinated by the shining red balloon and the way it seemed hardly to give an ilm beneath the other man's strong hands.

 

The adventurer followed his eyes, and traced his fingers along the curve with a knowing smile. It made a soft whispering sound, only squeaking at the end, and then he splayed his fingers out and pressed against the side. It dimpled around his hand only minutely, firm and unyielding. Aymeric emitted a tiny moan, biting his lip only after failing to contain it.

 

The man's eyes widened suddenly, as if he hadn't realized what he'd done until then. “Sorry, I forgot myself.” His throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed, looking away in shame and blushing softly. “I shouldn't toy with you like that, no matter how _amazing_ you look right now. I have no right.”

 

“It's... quite alright,” Aymeric mumbled, somewhere beyond caring about the impropriety. He wasn't sure why. Maybe he just didn't want the adventurer to stop. Maybe the experience was so incredible that he didn't care that a man he respected but hardly knew was watching him come undone. He realized too late that he hadn't even attempted to hide his arousal, hands limp at his sides unless they had clutched at the leather of the armrest. He was completely exposed, vulnerable. Perhaps that hardly mattered, when the other man seemed to know precisely what he had been thinking the entire time.

 

He could not help but wonder, of course, why the other man seemed to know the balloon so intimately. It was not merely that he touched it like a lover. He touched it like an old flame whose body was so familiar that he could draw forth any reaction he pleased, though they had remained years apart.

 

The knight fought through his strange, vague desires. Speaking rationally took effort, like arguing in a dream. “It is not only I who feels this way,” he said. His voice didn't quite seem like his own. At some point it had gone low, dark, and warm, like the space beneath a blanket.

 

Hikari's eyes slid closed, and he gasped, his fingers twitching against the smooth latex enough to make Aymeric's heart jump in his throat. But the balloon did not pop. When the warrior's eyes fixed on him again, head bobbing faintly and lips parted to panting breath, the knight wondered perhaps if it might as well have.

 

“Fuck,” whispered the adventurer. “No, you're right. God fucking _dammit_ , give me a minute.” He leaned back into the chair and spread his legs, clutching the balloon closer to himself and raising his hips. Aymeric realized he was thrusting slowly into the balloon, and if that wasn't the most amazing thing he had ever seen he was sure he would have remembered otherwise. The adventurer's lips had fallen open and his head lay backwards, an expression of pure bliss overtaking him as he moved. The boot that had rested so casually against the tea table was now providing leverage, the motion somehow not in imitation of but _truly sex_. He moaned wantonly, long, deep and low, and the knight seemed to hear the sound with his cock instead of his ears.

 

It was unbearably good. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sight, unable to control his reaction and unwilling to indulge his body. He only barely managed not to give voice to a reply, though whether it was pleasure at the sight or longing to experience it himself, he could not entirely say.

 

“Sorry,” he heard after a moment, and he opened his eyes. The Hyur was panting, a heavy blush on his cheeks, but he was holding the balloon away from himself now, where the light of the fire shined through it and made it seem to burn. “Was that too much? I guess I thought I could control myself a little better. Kinda hard to with it just sitting here. And God _damn_ you have no idea...”

 

“No,” Aymeric answered quickly, too quickly for his pride. He was uncomfortable, yes, of course. He was ordinarily calm and in command of his every thought and movement. Suddenly happening upon something that ripped away his focus and replaced it with... desire... it was jarring in the extreme.

 

But that did not mean he wanted it to stop. His eyes were still locked solidly upon the toy in Hikari's hands, and he suspected he might have raised steel at anyone who tried to remove him from it. He licked his lips unconsciously, weighing the gravity of his decision in his mind.

 

He understood now why Hikari had admitted his attraction, why he had been so coy with his glances and careful with his words. He understood, now, that what they did was every bit as debauched as the tumble in the sheets that Haurchefant had once begged of him. But he had never been tempted by Haurchefant. He was tempted now, and more.

 

He let his ice-cool eyes, sharp but open like the pages of a well-worn book, trace up to the adventurer's face. He, too, seemed a little awed and surprised, a little out of his depth. He, too, seemed to feel the gravity of their situation, and reflect it in his boyish face.

 

He may have left the realm of temptation already. “Pray, show me,” said Aymeric at last. He could no longer muster any reason to hesitate. There were no other answers his tongue could give.

 

Hikari let his eyes slide half-closed in pleasure, matching the wanton breaths he still drew. He ran his tongue around his bottom lip as he regarded the knight. “ _God_ , the things I want to show you,” he growled. “If you want to touch yourself... it's okay. This is going to get _intense_.”

 

But instead of pulling it back to his lap, he drew it to his lips and met the balloon with his tongue. It was almost like a kiss, the way he pulled it back into his mouth and held the lip closed with his teeth. The way he slid his hands back to embrace and steady it was like a lover's caress, and Aymeric held his breath to wait for the inevitable hiss of inflation. When it came at last, a little shock ran through him, knocking the breath from his lungs in sympathy. The balloon continued to inflate, and its shape was slowly changing.

 

Oh yes, he did want to touch himself. But more than that, he wanted that balloon. He wanted it in his lap, as he'd seen Hikari hold it, and he wanted to see how it felt in his arms, against his lips. Oh _Fury_ , against his cock.

 

He only realized he'd groaned when the man looked at him, not releasing the balloon but glancing at him sideways around it. It was beginning to elongate now, not quite as round. More of a teardrop. Hikari let one hand drop to his lap and pointedly pressed against it, stroking himself through his trousers and flexing his hips a little. His lips drew back, exposing his gripping teeth, and he let loose a high-pitched whine that echoed slightly in the balloon. It was a fuzzy, echoing sound, and it only amplified his desires.

 

The knight's hand was itching for something, needing to wander, to soothe the ache building in his groin. A chill informed him that his jaw had gone slack, and his gasping had drawn enough air to cool the saliva that seemed to cling to his teeth and tongue. Hikari took the opportunity to glance at him knowingly, still stroking himself with long, slow movements. It was a hot gaze, and for once in his life he knew he returned the desire.

 

It was not desire for the man, but it made no matter, because it was the man that was doing it to him. The feelings were overwhelming, almost profound in their hold on him. And the same pleasure was writ clearly on the warrior's face, their shared enjoyment an intimate act in itself.

 

He was seduced. It was as if Hikari had found some way to fuck him from across the room, and they hadn't even undressed. Aymeric was at his mercy, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

 

At long last his resistance was spent. His hand finally unclenched, a dim pain lingering in his palm where his nails had pressed overlong, and moved haltingly toward his lap. It was ridiculous to suppose that he could do so without the sharp-eyed warrior taking note, and when he did there was no more blood left to color his cheeks with shame. It was all there already, heat in his face, his chest, his groin. When he finally reached his target, stroking through the thick fabric with fingers trembling, it was like the first rain after a drought. The sensation was nearly sweet enough to taste, tingling through him in warm waves in a way he had neither experienced nor imagined. He could not hold back the groan as he pushed back clumsily against his palm, nearly sliding his eyes shut in pleasure. Nearly, but not quite, because he needed to see the sight before him as surely as he needed to breathe.

 

The adventurer responded, returning a long moan of appreciation that saw him collapse backwards against the cushions with a subtle arch of his spine. “That's it,” he said, around the balloon. “Don't be afraid to enjoy it.” His words were lisping and brassy from it, but low and sensual enough to make Aymeric glad to obey. And obey he did, because the other man gasped audibly for another breath, and he knew whither it was destined.

 

And he was right, of course, the delivery slow and sensual. Hikari was revealing the balloon slowly, like a long strip tease, and it was _most_ effective. The globe was as full as it wanted to get, now, and it seemed to be reaching some tipping point, if the other man's excitement was any indication. He had paused in stroking himself to grasp it in both hands, pressing lightly on its sides. He still held the neck in his open lips, though now the knight could see the tip of the man's tongue blocking the mouth of the balloon, holding it closed with no effort while he breathed easily around it. If he hadn't already been aware that the man were making love to it, it would have been as obvious now as a pair of dragons rolling in the snow, _in flagrante delicto_.

 

And again, a little part of him thrilled at the skill he displayed. He wondered just what else the warrior had wanted to show him. But he was certain he would not last long enough to find out, even if he denied himself the comfort of his own touch.

 

The tipping point was passed with the next breath. Aymeric knew it, flicking his eyes raptly in anticipation from the sound and forgetting everything else in his fervor. Even his fingers stilled, unable to give him the contact he craved through the thick trousers and too inexperienced to give him what he needed. Hikari seemed to know as well, giving the knight a knowing little wink before beginning to blow, leaning into the balloon as if it were instead a ravenous kiss. The balloon responded to him, though it was a strange sight. The balloon responded to him by changing shape, the neck inflating with a sudden motion and elongating suggestively. It went from an egg to a teardrop to a pear, the newly inflated neck expanding at an astounding pace. The balloon was as large as it could possibly get, and Hikari was still pushing for more.

 

“Oh, _yes_ ,” the warrior whispered raggedly, more to it than to Aymeric. He pinched the neck closed with one hand and held it away to regard it, turning it this way and that in the soft light. The knight nodded anyway, causing sweat-beaded strands of hair to flop into his eyes. When had he begun to sweat? He swallowed hazily, not sure if he should respond, demand to have it, or simply beg for more. He settled for meeting the adventurer's eyes, panting softly. Any words he had wanted to say emerged only as a vague, unfocused whinge.

 

The other man gave him a warm, sympathetic chuckle. “Yeah,” he said as if Aymeric had said something quite profound. “That usually works better without pants, by the way. Unless you want help?” He raised an eyebrow in a teasing gesture that reminded him a little of Haurchefant, and the knight supposed that perhaps that's where he had learnt it. That meant it was not necessarily a serious suggestion, unless his answer were 'yes.'

 

The thought had definite merit. He had no doubt whatsoever that Hikari would know precisely how to touch him, while he himself could barely manage it when given time and privacy enough to chase away his embarrassment. On the other hand, it wasn't what he wanted now. As pleasant as he imagined the warrior's touch to be, he _needed_ to see that balloon. He didn't know why or to what end, but he needed it, like he had never needed anything in his life. He was quite certain it wouldn't matter how inept his own fingers proved to be, at that point. He was close to the precipice already, body coiled tight like the firm sides of the balloon, no-where left for the added pressure to go.

 

His lips fell open of their own accord, senseless even to the words he planned to say. “Don't stop,” he managed to force out, eyes squeezed tight against the pleasure that seemed to surge even without sight or touch. “Don't _ever_ stop. Goddess...”

 

Hikari answered with a long moan, rather than the sharp intake of breath that Aymeric needed from him. “Be careful what you wish for,” he said thickly. He dropped a hand to his groin again and undid the buttons there, loosening the laces that kept his trousers in place and unbuckling his belt with a quick, perfunctory motion. He stopped short of drawing free his erection, instead dipping his hand below the band of his smallclothes with a careful eye on Aymeric as he worked.

 

The knight could see no reason to stop him. In fact, the narrow-eyed stare he returned may have served to goad the adventurer on.

 

The slow, involuntary slide of the warrior's eyelids told Aymeric everything he needed to know about what his hand was up to, as it moved beneath his shorts. The knight was surprised to find that that, too, was fascinating. It was not the balloon, but it made his cock twitch just a touch in sympathy, made him want to see the other man satisfied as well.

 

Hikari gasped a few breaths, his focus having escaped to the balloon pinched between his fingers rather than the knight watching him please himself. He bit his lip absently as he did so, in what could have been an effort at restraint.

 

“You saw me pop one already,” he said, tearing his gaze from it at last and shuddering under the force of a fresh movement of his wrist. “Is that what you want?”

 

“Do it,” was all Aymeric could growl. He had no more patience, just aching need.

 

Hikari's gasp was a living thing, audible from across the room and just as real as the balloon. The knight's eyes seemed to pounce upon the man, as if he could tear the breath from him by force. The adventurer nearly flinched, not in fear but pleasure, eyes sliding almost closed to look at him with sensual care. “Don't stop touching yourself,” he commanded. “Trust me.” He waited for Aymeric to comply, watching his hand stir to stroke himself quickly through his trousers. It was awkward, the friction nearly burning his hand with the repetitive motion, but it was just enough to make his cock twitch for more, make his body cry out now that he had a physical anchor for the pleasure he already felt. He found that the desire in the other man's eyes at the sight made the slight embarrassment worth it, almost as much as the enjoyment of the touch itself.

 

Satisfied, Hikari finally did as he asked. The next breath was slow and cautious, again making the neck expand and forcing the body of the balloon backwards. This time he thought he could see the whole thing grow just slightly, even though most of the expansion took place in the narrow neck. The warrior lost interest in his own pleasure once again, placing both hands around the balloon near the neck, and squeezing lightly. He thought he could hear a short gasp of pleasure as he pushed against it, too softly to really see it deform much. And then he firmly pushed it away from himself. The uninflated portion of the neck stretched, and the inflated part seemed to grow longer, even without the addition of air.

 

He still held it this way when he gave it another cautious breath, and this time the air seemed to flood the neck, greedily filling out the portion that he had stretched, so quickly that Aymeric's whole body trembled. He was on the cusp of something momentous. He had experienced climax before, but this was different somehow. Whatever this balloon was doing to him, was shaking him apart, and making him wonder if he would ever fit back together. He would not have been able to still the motion of his hand had his life depended on it, nor would he tear his eyes from the sight before him.

 

Hikari met his eyes once more, a brief sideways glance that indicated that he was just as aroused, just as lost in the balloon's thrall. He returned his hand to its dark work, sliding it again into the hidden recesses of his trousers and moving vigorously enough that Aymeric could have seen the act in profile, had his eyes not been occupied. A low groan sounded, once again amplified through the balloon and diffusing throughout the room, making the air seem to flash with heat. Then he took another deep breath, bigger than the last two, and held it until he was sure Aymeric's gaze was fast upon him.

 

Then he forced it out. Slow at first, then violently, and he realized then that the other man had lost patience as well. Whatever happened would happen quickly. The neck continued to fill out obscenely, stretching out the little remaining latex between the inflated pear and the lip captured between his teeth. It pushed quickly against his lips and continued to swell outward, farther than it seemed possible for it to grow.

 

And then it was gone.

 

It all seemed to happen in the wrong order. The balloon vanished as if it had never been, and only then did he hear the loud thunder of its explosion. He felt it viscerally. The balloon had been filled until it could take no more, and when it caved, he caved too. His body responded without his permission, and he came with a startled shout, desperately pressing against his stilled hand for any last bit of contact it might provide, flooding the tight space beneath his smallclothes with heat that he was too far gone to be embarrassed by. No longer needing to see anything at all, he let his head fall back against the couch cushion and shut his eyes, riding out the wave of intense pleasure, gasping and groaning in elation and astonishment.

 

Vaguely, he was aware that Hikari had done so too. The warrior had made no effort to restrain his voice, and his low moans had mingled with his own in a way that seemed to heighten the eroticism of the experience, as if they fed on each-other's enjoyment. They had come at the same moment, prompted by the balloon's bursting, and it took only a glance at the adventurer's sated expression afterwards to confirm what he had already suspected. It was sex, in every sense of the word. And he had loved it.

 

It was as if he had lived his entire life insisting that the sky was only ever blue, only to see his first vivid sunset. It was as shocking as it was beautiful, and he almost felt foolish for having thought himself above such things.

 

The Hyur grinned back at him lazily, spitting out the remains of the balloon's neck and fastening his trousers quickly. He wiped his hand carelessly on his thigh, and then proceeded to pick flecks of shredded latex off his face and clothing as though he hadn't cause to be ashamed of either. “That was _beautiful_. How did you like it?” He seemed to be expecting him to speak, as if his mind had not been blasted apart and blown across the room, scattered on every surface.

 

Aymeric groaned, which a bell before might have been a sound of mortification or annoyance. Now it was a sound of satisfaction, his body humming contentedly as if from a good spar. He eased himself sideways to lie halfway upon the couch, no longer feeling self-conscious. There was nothing wrong with laying himself out to stretch languidly, even with the adventurer eyeing him appreciatively through his sated haze. No more wrong than their heated glances or pleasured sighs, because now they were as lovers.

 

There was a quick pang of guilt at the thought, but it quite escaped him. There was too much sensation and feeling to grasp at any one thread. It was all flooded out with satisfaction and astonishment, as if he were trying to see into a dark room while standing in the light of the sun.

 

“I fear...” he said at last, looking now at the darkened ceiling as if that was where he might finally find his thoughts. “I fear that I shall never be the same. It was as you said... amazing. I did not know it was possible to feel such things.” There was anxiety behind his words, but he could not quite feel it as his own. Not yet, not under Hikari's caring gaze.

 

The other man smiled warmly, and sighed, the deep sigh of one truly content. “You're the same as you always were. You just know more about yourself now. Don't be afraid. Just enjoy it.”

 

That was easy for the adventurer to say. A faithless creature, walking through life with no responsibilities save for those he took on willingly. But he was a good man, a friend, and possessed of no small wisdom. He had been right thus far, about everything he had felt. Perhaps he was right on this, too.

 

Hikari stood from the chair by the fire, lifting his arms over his head and grasping at his elbows to stretch. Dimly, Aymeric watched him, noting anew the beauty of a body tempered by the hard forge of combat into a perfect machine. The adventurer was _attractive_ , and the word was no longer foreign on his tongue. He did not want to touch him, or taste every ilm of sweat-soaked skin and toned muscle as Haurchefant sometimes intimated in a low voice. But he was fair to look upon, and the rumpled sight of him as he adjusted his trousers was a heady reminder of the sin they had shared.

 

So when the adventurer knelt beside the couch and lifted a hesitant hand to his face, the commander did not hesitate to assent to the touch. Instead he lifted his head to lean into the gentle hand, feeling a warm tingle in his belly at the friendly contact.

 

“Thank you,” the knight murmured. It was quiet, hardly enough to be heard at any distance, but that was not a problem because it was whispered nearly against Hikari's lips. The other man froze, still brushing tenderly against Aymeric's cheek but otherwise perfectly still, as if he weren't sure whether the Elezen would startle, or attack.

 

It was the latter. His first kiss had been but bells previous, but it felt appropriate to seek out another. It was only a soft brush of lips, soft and chaste, and slow as sweet molasses. But somehow it steadied a place in his heart that had been aching throughout the day. For the space of a few breaths, Hikari held him, and he felt neither guilt nor fear.

 

Then he withdrew, opening eyes he barely remembered closing, and it came seeping slowly back. It was not so terrible, though, because the silly look on the adventurer's face quite soothed away the sting.

 

“Well,” he said, looking like he wasn't sure what conversation he wanted to pretend to be engrossed in. He stood up on wobbly legs and coughed into his hand, ruffling his sandy hair with the other. “I should um, probably be going, unless you want me to stay?” He squinted down at the knight in thought, blushing slightly once again, and Aymeric could not for the life of him determine which answer the Hyur was hoping for.

 

Company might have been nice. A warm body lying against him in the dark, and strong arms to hold him secure through any trouble. Yes, he wanted the adventurer to stay with him.

 

But he had no illusions regarding to whom the man belonged. It was simply not his place, though he still felt a vague, soft pain at the thought. Nor was he so unsure that he needed his hand held throughout the nightmare hours. The silence would likely do him good, now that his desires had been tamed and his thoughts given name.

 

“I can manage,” said Aymeric, letting his voice drift into the softness of the cushion beneath his head.

 

Hikari smiled, warm and soft, and bent down to place a similar kiss upon the knight's brow. Then he straightened to leave.

 

And then he stopped, just beyond the corner of the couch where Aymeric would have had to crane his neck to see, had he not been too sleepy and satisfied to need to use his eyes.

 

“I'll leave you with that bag to play with,” he said, and Aymeric could hear him grin around the words. “Don't be afraid to experiment, there's no wrong way to do it.”

 

The knight murmured sleepily, though he had no words in his mind to go with the indistinct sounds he emitted.

 

There was a quiet space long enough that Aymeric wondered if the other man had left, but he hadn't actually moved. His parting comment came from the very same spot, just ilms beyond the shadow and seeming to float through the aether itself.

 

“I'll bring you more the next time I see you. That bag... is just the beginning.”

 

Moments later the door was heard to close securely, and Aymeric was once again alone with his thoughts. Unlike earlier, he was relaxed, and though there was still uncertainty, he was no longer much afraid. There was a giddiness in his gut, perhaps more anticipation than unease. Guilt frayed beyond the corners of his satisfaction, but he shut it out, trusting in Hikari's promises and the care he'd bestowed in his parting kiss.

 

His mind was sluggish. His thoughts pulsed in dim currents like the flow of a mudslide, as though at heart they were solid matter that took insult at his attempts to move them. It was all too easy to push everything to the morrow, to bask in the warm, sensual afterglow of the explosive experience he'd undergone.

 

He fell asleep not long after, not even bothering to remove his clothes or retreat to the bed. In the morning, he would find a long string of stretched latex tangled in his hair. But for now, he was blissfully unaware of anything at all.


	3. Jewel Assortment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the legendary Q24, Qualatex's premier astonishingly-large non-fluted balloons, now slated to be discontinued. The balloon world mourns, for there is no replacement and never has been. Few other manufacturers make non-fluted shapes at this size; those that do lack the breathless, firm feel, or titan strength for which Qualatex is rightly known.
> 
> You will be missed, Q24. But not until we have exhausted our stockpiles, because we will not willingly go without.
> 
>  **Warnings: religion, sexual tension, inflation, contact, masturbation, non-popping. Brief references to popping.** All action in this chapter is solo, and no popping occurs, though it is referred to.

The second thing Ser Aymeric did upon his return to the Holy See was confess.

 

Confession was not a requirement of the faith, though it was encouraged. It was like leeching, a balancing of the spiritual humors and a cure for any conscience. It was an opportunity to lay one’s sins upon the table, turn around and walk away. To drop the burden from one’s bowed back and begin anew. To be forgiven, not merely by Halone, but by oneself.

 

There was a good deal of talk in the darker shadows of the city about whether the confessional was truly a secret sacrament. The Inquisition was a zealous institution, with fingers in every pie and pies cooling in every window, even those that appeared, at first glance, to be securely closed. Aymeric was a man of prominent position, with a very distinctive voice. No amount of darkness and screens and polite pretension to anonymity would disguise him. He had to assume that anything he said would be attached to his name, and passed on to the relevant authorities.

 

It was not that he did not trust the church. But rather that he could not afford to place blind faith in men. Only the Fury’s justice was perfect. Only the Goddess, divine.

 

The obvious choice was not to take the risk. To leave his private sins a private matter, and to mull over the consequences of his discoveries alone. But his heart ached, his head was spinning, and guilt wrapped around his throat like a python preparing to choke out his very breath. And so he inventoried his crimes and laid them out to himself, preparing his words and his heart for true contrition. Then at a time when he would not be remarked save for by the man whose silence he could not fully trust, he submitted to the Fury’s will.

 

“Oh dearest Halone, lay thine blessings upon me, for though I am unclean beneath thine sight, yet heartily am I sorry for my sins,” he began, once he was shut into the darkened booth. The full formula was unnecessary, but it helped him to say it. It helped him journey from the profane world into the sacred space of ritual. It was the way his mind could know, as well as his heart, that he spake truly to the Goddess and not merely to a man in starched robes who wheezed occasionally on the intake of breath.

 

The Goddess invoked, he ventured forward, stepping carefully along the sacred path laid out by his ancestors long ago. “It has been three moons since last I sought contrition before you. I come now about a specific matter, by which I fear thine glory offended, and another grievously wronged.” He paused, bowing his head in the darkness. As if his sins were perched upon his brow like a diadem of shame, forcing his neck to ache and his eyes to squeeze shut against the pain of holding them aloft for the full space of a day.

 

There was a shuffling sound behind the screen, a disturbance in the air that carried the dim scent of incense long-confined more clearly to the fore. The sounds were muted by the felt that lined the interior, depriving the enclosed space of echo and giving instead the illusion that the two men were suspended somewhere between space and time, merely a mote in the all-seeing eye of the Fury.

 

“Speak freely, child,” said the weathered voice on the other side. The age and care of its owner made Aymeric relax instinctively, even as he pointedly shut out the urge to remember to whom the voice belonged.

 

And so he spoke. But he chose his words with care. “I have broken the heart of a friend. Long have I been loved, without returning the sentiment. I… I have made clear my feelings. I consented to a kiss, though I felt nothing. I fear it was the cruelest rejection I could have contrived.”

 

The man behind the screen shifted again, and made a snorting sort of cough, short and half-muffled. “A… friend, you say? And is this a lady-friend, or...”

 

Father Rupertain, supplied Aymeric’s memory reflexively, with all the familiarity and affection to go with it. Despite himself, he relaxed, letting out a quiet breath and letting his shoulders loosen. The old man was sharp, though, too sharp. “Nay, ‘twas a man,” said Aymeric, unable to let the implication hang in the air. But Father Rupertain was a known quantity. He was not hunting for heresy. It was more that he had heard the same confession so many times that he could hear the words omitted as clearly as those he’d said aloud.

 

“And yet you worry more for breaking his heart than the sin of the kiss,” returned the gravel-rough voice, bemused. “Bless you, child. I can see little wrong in it, so long as you don’t make a habit of your _heartbreaking_.”

 

The knight grinned ruefully, already feeling lighter though he had not yet been absolved. He hadn’t planned on elaborating, the risk being too real, but he could not stop now. Not when he felt the poison already leaving the wound. “And yet it weighs heavily upon me. So heavily that I was comforted by the one I had hoped would heal his heart in my stead. And there lay my second sin, accepting aid from one who was not mine to hold.”

 

“Ah,” said the Fury’s representative, as though he had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. “And this ‘comfort’… comes also from a man, I suppose?”

 

This time Aymeric did not answer, but it hardly mattered.

 

“How gravely have you sinned, child?” the priest asked seriously, once a suitable silence had elapsed. Then his tone became more gentle, cajoling, reminding him that he was there to heal, rather than accuse. “I refuse to guess. Confession is your job, forgiveness is mine.”

 

Aymeric hardly heard the amused him he returned, mollified by the jest without even thinking on it. The real problem was that he hadn’t the faintest idea how to answer the question. What _had_ he done with Hikari? They had shared _something_ sinful, he was certain. But it was so thoroughly beyond his previous knowledge and experience that he could not have begun to put it into words. Nor did he suppose that the old man would have understood his answer. Had he elected to guess—and wise he was to refuse—he would certainly have been wrong on every account.

 

He had already decided that he would say nothing about the balloons. Instinct told him to cloak his discovery in a veil of secrecy, like a squirrel hiding a nut for the hard winter. It was likely pointless, anyway, a red herring that would distract his priest from the trail of his true crimes. And Hikari’s conviction, as ever, burned so brightly that he could hardly do aught but listen to his counsel. He was still confused, yes, still desperately afraid and a little ashamed. But he would not lay that at the feet of the Goddess, nor this mortal man that served her. His real sin lay elsewhere. At least, for now.

 

“I do not understand myself,” he answered at length. “We spake. We did not touch. And when it was done we shared the briefest kiss. I do not… _want_ him. Nor any man. But I feel I overstepped the bounds of friendship, and I fear mine indiscretion has done naught but twist the knife.”

 

 

It was a lie of omission, he knew. But he could not fill in the blanks with truths that made any kind of sense. He might just as well sing nursery rhymes instead, for all he understood.

 

The old man made a speculative, disapproving sound, low and rough as though he were gargling a glass of rocks behind the screened partition. “I hardly know what to make of that,” he said gruffly. “Youths and their passions. It sounds as though you have sinned doubly, yes? Against a friend and against the Fury. Your priorities are as confused as your lips. The solution is simple: kiss women, not men. Apologize to the Goddess first, _then_ to your heathen friend. And if you _really_ cannot control the urges you claim you do not have, don’t find yourself alone with men who want to kiss you. _Daft git.”_

 

Aymeric knew the voice of Father Rupertain well enough to know when he was scolding, and when he was merely affectionate. The speech was delivered with subtle hints of both, the final two words whispered so hoarsely it could have nearly been concealed laughter. The knight’s own lips turned up in amusement even as he blushed, and he stifled a snort that must surely have been audible as well. He had forgotten just how easily the old man could put him at ease.

 

“I do not intend to allow it to happen again,” he said honestly, sunlight shining upon his soul.

 

“ Well then,” said the priest, once again a mere representative of the Goddess. “Is there aught else?”

 

There was not. And thus he was dismissed with a quiet prayer, heaped high with blessings for wisdom and chastity. Finally the old man pronounced the words he longed to hear. “In the name of the Fury that burns away the wicked and leaves naught but righteousness and love, I absolve thee of thine sins, child. Go and sin no more beneath her sight.”

 

Aymeric could have wept with the lightness of his heart.

 

That was not to say of course, that the matter of the balloons and their strange effect on him was resolved. It was merely a different sort of sin. One of the body, rather than the heart. But in the same way that he had felt the sin of kissing a man to have been secondary to the sin of  _hurting_ one, he was beginning to come around to Hikari’s way of thinking. If Haurchefant fancied men, women, or chocobos, he had never had cause to care.  But i f Aymeric felt unholy things for an object that could feel neither hurt nor pleasure, he could not precisely say whether he was truly sinning. Instinct told him it was an affront to nature and the Twelve.  Yet i t was a strange sort of sin, a private sort, and not even torture would bring him to speak of it to less than the Goddess descended in radiant glory to walk upon the snow.

 

Which was why the  _first_ thing he had done upon his return to the See was fly to his chambers, and find a place to secure the balloons that had so plagued his desires. It took several bells of poking about, testing different locations and guessing at which areas his maid paid the least attention to. Finally it occurred to him to pull out the books on his shelf. There was not a speck of dust along the edge or upon the tomes themselves. But behind the books, great clots of dirt had accumulated, and he feared the introduction of a sufficiently round pebble might cause Spriggans to take shape and dance around the room. He retrieved a kerchief to clean the back of the highest shelf as thoroughly as he could whilst balancing on a chair, then settled the bag into the corner where he could lay his worries to rest.

 

The silk shirt that Haurchefant had dressed him in was folded in the bureau with care beside what little casual clothing he owned. It belonged to him now, and while he would rarely have occasion to wear it, he would treasure it all the same. So too, would he treasure the note that he placed in the back of a locked desk drawer. It had been found outside his guest room door, atop his armor and sabotons, stacked neatly in the hall. It said simply, “Keep the shirt, it was made for you.” The only signature was a loopily-drawn heart, in bold orange ink.

 

It had hurt to look on, at first. But once his confession was complete, he could see it for what it was. A sign that Haurchefant was not quite as wounded as he had feared, and that their friendship was not lost.

 

Father Rupertain had, in his own way, been quite right. He would needs apologize, somehow. But it was hard to know just what to say. He could not _possibly_ admit his peculiar infatuation. And he feared that to bring up the subject would further tear a wound which he knew would not _, could_ not easily heal.

 

Hikari had believed that Haurchefant would understand. But what good was that when Aymeric himself did not?

 

In the end, it was easier to wait. To think. To wonder and worry. And to focus on the distraction that Hikari had so kindly provided, along with his breezy promise for more.

 

He had, in truth, tried to resist. But his resolve had lasted a sum total of two days and a single night, spent restlessly twisting in his own bed. When his mind had finally stilled to sleep, even his dreams had been focused on the treasure upon his shelf. They had made so little sense that he could hardly grasp at the memory when he awoke, finding his dreams escaping him as though they, too, were filled with a bomb’s earth-defying breath.

 

But he had learnt his lesson, and resolved to put it to immediate practice.

 

The next night, he retired slightly earlier than was his habit, earning him a look of shock and concern from Lucia. Nevertheless she did all she could to hasten his departure, making him wonder if she expected him to expire from overwork. “Surely you have not fallen ill?” she had asked as she steered him toward the door, and he supposed that he might have looked it, even more tired than usual and face heated by the thoughts of what he had planned. He reassured her as best he could—which was not much, when he would have muttered the same protestations irrespective of his health.

 

Then he secreted himself away. Alone with his temptations. Alone with the sin he could not even name.

 

It turned out that Hikari was possessed of even more skill than he had initially thought. The latex baubles were remarkably difficult to inflate, requiring nearly half a bell of experimentation before he could fill one with even a single breath. The challenge was to create a seal between his lips—and was it not like a _kiss_ —and the balloon’s own mouth. Having managed that, he then had to contend with keeping the balloon stable and the neck open while he blew. To his shame, his initial attempts generated enough saliva that he had set aside two of the precious things in anger before he’d seen any success. They mocked him from his tea table, shining and just out of reach.

 

When one of them finally answered him with a soft hiss, expanding and pressing against the hand that gently held its neck, the resultant thrill had nearly ended his exploration prematurely. Instead, he lost his grip on it altogether. As though possessed of its own will it flew from his mouth and landed on the table before him with a rude squeal.

 

He wondered if this were somewhat like the frustration he had avoided as a young man, when his fellows had been discovering their infatuation with the opposite sex. He hadn’t the accumulated wisdom of their hushed whispers, it was true. He had, in fact, little to no idea beyond what Hikari had shown him. But as embarrassed as he felt at his failure to perform, he was fairly certain he had the easier end of the bargain. And so he merely picked it up and tried once more, confident that with time, he would learn all he needed to know.

 

Not so confident that he had no need of his clothing, at least not yet. But shy, trembling fingers found the time to unbutton his shirt, hesitantly tracing along his own body as though he had never dared explore himself before. In a way, it was true. Though he had touched himself, and yes, brought himself some degree of pleasure, he had never thought of it as sex. There had seemed little sin in it, no forbidden thoughts in his mind to accompany the act.

 

Now, though he was alone, he did not feel as though his exploration were the simple gratification of his own touch. With a balloon between his lips and his lungs heaving to fill it, hands unable to resist the occasional pause to caress its sides, he felt as though he were truly learning the ways of love.

 

When he finally managed to _fill_ the  oblong globe, glistening and round, a purple so deep it was nearly black unless the light of the fire shone _through_ it, he barely managed to last beyond his first trembling embrace. Once he had it gathered in his lap his trousers in an indecent disarray and his cock so _hard_ he felt he himself might burst… his body, suddenly, knew more than he, moving against it and shuddering at the intensity of feeling.  For a few brief moments he surrendered all thought and worry, laying his head back against his chair and pulling his companion close against him. It didn’t just caress his cock. It pushed against his hold, resisting his embrace with firm sides and cool breath. Within moments he had coated its smooth surface with his own pleasure. He hadn’t even the presence of mind to stifle his gasps, wet and open-mouthed and registering no small note of surprise.

 

After the jolt of climax, of instincts simultaneously discovered and fulfilled, he felt oddly at peace. The flurry of words and worries in his mind had paused in their whirl, and now they floated, feather-soft, to the back of his mind. He sat quietly for several minutes, eyes closed and panting softly, merely holding the balloon that seemed to embrace him in return. Too small to fill his arms, but warming his palms all the same, seeming to burrow comfortably into his groin and settle like a kitten who could not choose between affection and a nap. It was reassuring, somehow. A comfort for his body and his troubled mind.

 

Or a siren in the dark, calling him to pleasures he was certain he hadn’t but begun to witness.

 

Hikari had promised to bring him more.

 

The adventurer was true to his word. It took a but a scant handful of days before the Warrior of Light was once again in his office, for official reasons but bearing a silky bag of sin. Aymeric was as yet unsure of how he should behave in the other man’s presence. But Hikari seemed untroubled, grinning like a fox with a mouthful of vermin as he slid the token across his desk. “These are a little stronger. You can use them again if you rest them in hot water,” he said. Simple words, delivered innocently, but dripping with lewd suggestion. And then he was gone with a friendly wave and a smile so full of cheer that he could well have been the Saint of Nymeia in the flesh, delivering toys instead of sex.

 

Aymeric’s blush had ripened like an apple high in the tree, reaching his full flush only when he was once again alone. But he took the offerings all the same, and counted the moments until he could taste them himself.

 

Other times the adventurer would pass him on the street, making eye contact at a distance or brushing close to deposit a bag into his hand. They were not all the same, his gifts. “These are a bit larger,” Hikari would say in a conspiratorial voice. Or, “this batch is only good for popping. But at least they won’t go to waste.”

 

Until his appearance alone could provoke Aymeric to thoughts of sin. Until the subtle tones of his hush-hush voice, smooth and confident but soft enough to leave a babe in the land of dreams, could itself ignite his blood.

 

“These will safely bear your weight,” the adventurer had whispered one day, close beside his ear. They had ducked aside into an alley, keeping a keen eye for intruders though their words seemed innocent enough. For a brief moment Aymeric had wondered if they had somehow _become_ lovers, hiding in dark corners to blush and whisper secret words. But Hikari’s sapphire-bright eyes were all innocence and play. He’d waved his hand almost carelessly as he backed into the street, blending into the crowd as naught but a cheshire grin.

 

And oh, how that silken bag but _burned_ against his skin, tucked close beneath his belt. He felt the heat at all times, warming his cheeks, his breast, whispering sinful things to his cock. He was a distracted mess the rest of the day, able to find solace only when duty required enough focus to push aught else from his mind. Between tasks, or when a report interrupted him, it would all come back in a heated rush. More than once, Lucia had inquired if he had again taken ill. More than once, he had been tempted to surrender to the urge, and scurry away in shame.

 

It felt like an hundred bells had passed, when he had wrestled his papers into a semblance of order, taken stock and status and even the star charts, and retired to his room. But the balloons had waited for him, warmed by his body heat as he was by they in turn. And when he put one to his lips, a bright, cheerful yellow, the travails of the day were blown entirely from his mind.

 

It was large, as well as strong. A good two fulms in length, at least. And so _firm_ , so _tight_ , he might not have filled it fully had he not learned to prize the shape. The latex was still nearly opaque, though pleasantly glossy, when it had seemed to reach its full pressure. It was already a delight to press between his hands, making his lungs seem suddenly bereft of breath when he paused to pull it close to his chest. It was a trembling thing, unreal, exceeding the bounds of vision and touch. When he leaned close to glean the strange, heady scent of latex just beginning to stretch, his lips were caressed by a pillow of smoothest glass.

 

So he had not been much surprised when the mere _appearance_ of the elongated neck, emerging slowly and shyly like a pale budding rose, had made him shudder in release.

 

Perhaps a trifle disappointed. It had been enjoyable, sneaking up on him like a pacing wolf and giving him little choice but surrender. But it lacked the overwhelming force that he had come to enjoy, or the flirtation with his own peak as he had nursed the balloon to fullness, attempting to bring them both to an end in one stroke.

 

But Hikari had said it would bear his weight. He _had_ to try it himself. And all at once the possibilities collided in his mind and he found he had no reason to stop.

 

It was already larger than he had thought possible, balanced in his shaking hands. He gave the neck only a few more breaths, cautious of its limits, unwilling to risk losing it before he was ready once more. Then he tied it loosely by the little remaining length. The neck was shorter than he was accustomed to, but hard-won. Even the few ilms it protruded from the enormous teardrop had been bought with more force than he knew his lungs could muster, stirring pride as well as arousal in the warmth of his belly.

 

It wasn’t merely the size that was so arresting, though his astonishment still buzzed behind his admiring gaze. It was also the shape, the way the neck curved gracefully into a firm nub he could only just wrap both hands around. The pressure was less solid here, more tremulous, even more indecent to press against and stroke. He felt his cheeks flush as he did so, committing its curves and firm resistance to memory, already mourning that he could not hold it forevermore.

 

And it was so _very_ firm. It was nearly obscene the way it pressed against his hands, stealing his breath away though he was quite finished inflating it. He fought not to stumble as he buoyed it to his bed, keeping his eyes upon it even as he stripped away the last of his clothing. He needn’t be shy, he reminded himself. He understood by now the true nature of what he did, there was no point in hiding it from himself. And he wanted every ilm of contact now, not merely against his awakening erection. He wanted to feel it between his thighs, and pressed against his stomach and chest. He wasn’t after a quick wank. He wanted to make _love._

 

His skin tingled as he knelt beside it, feeling it pull on his scant hair with the strange attraction so unique to the beautiful toys. He would feel charged with energy, sometimes, a mystical feeling of heightened unreality that mingled with his arousal until it was discharged with a shock. He could only assume it was magic. The singing of aether in his veins when he was near the object of his desire. A manifestation of its power over him, reaching out and calling to him, making him want to burst as well.

 

He wasn’t certain how to approach this lover. But the exploration was its own end. He experimented with various kinds of touch, rubbing it between his legs and rolling it down his chest. It was foreplay, of a kind, sharpening his desire and softening its skin, building the charge of arousal between them. He came to rest atop it, nudging its neck between his thighs as he leaned over its plush body. Seized with urgency at last, he pulled a pillow close to rest his elbows on and ease his weight down. Gingerly, cautiously, unsure if it might bite and woozy with the thought that _he might just like that_.

 

But the only thing he felt from it was bliss, still and warm like a lake in summertide.

 

Hikari had not lied; it plumped and widened from his weight, but did not break. It only pushed all the harder against his cock, making him clench his teeth and whimper at the _fullness_ of the feeling. At the cool silk and breathless calm, and the frantic stillness in his throat.

 

Finally he moved. He rocked carefully against it, and the balloon rolled with him, reacting with an intimate caress between his legs. A choked-off groan flailed out of him, too weak to gain any breath. His arms shook and he took refuge in his pillow, his forehead cooled and comforted. But his movements took on form and shape, roundness with a firm finish as he ground his hips gently against the mound of latex and airy breath. It was cautious, but not altogether soft. He was too desperate for that, too captivated by sensation and possibility all wrapped around his cock. Moved nearly to tears by the way it seemed to answer his thrusts, rubbing minutely against his sensitized tip with naught but his sweat and fluids between them.

 

At some point he forgot to be silent. At some point his own modesty ceased to matter, a mere prickle of cooling sweat on his shoulders as the heat built between the slick latex and his own skin. As his own fists gripped his pillow tight, or reached down to caress and steady his lover, he ceased to leash his own voice. His desperate gasps and pants took on their own rough volume, quiet but plaintive, and unmistakable in their passion.

 

It did not matter to the balloon. But he communicated his pleasure just the same. It was brilliant and pure, like the sunshine that radiated from its unsullied surface. He had no thought to resist its allure. He simply surrendered to its embrace, and cried wordlessly when it finally drew from him his end.

 

He sagged atop it, blissful and empty of thought. Still it had not burst, though he himself _had_. He was in no state to release the knot, so he wiped its surface clean and set it aside before tidying himself. It was still a sight to behold, though it had stretched and grown oblong. The neck was far more prominent now, and idly he wondered what it must have looked like as he had pressed into its body.

 

Perhaps next time he would find out, he thought, as he fell asleep with it cradled in his arms.

 

And indeed, the next morning, he did.

 

He also found a strange sort of contentment in a simple embrace. Even when he was too tired to do much about the pleasant arousal it stirred, it had a calming, protective effect. It was a distant echo of the peace he had felt while holding Haurchefant in his arms, only with his balloons he was not dogged by guilt or sorrow-sweet regret. It was simply reassuring, welcoming, warm. And he had need of reassurances, of late, sometimes returning to his home late at night to fall into bed with a balloon to hold, hoping only to calm his fears for another night.

 

The next time he saw his adventurer friend, it was clear that the man was up to something. Something more, perhaps, than his usual teasing, or his husky whispers from the shadows. Estinien was with him now, and Alphinaud as well. Between the three of them they carried some hidden secret, reflected only dimly in the twinkle in Hikari’s eyes, or the contour of the dragoon’s self-satisfied smirk.

 

He had an inkling as to what the subject of their request truly was. And though a childish part of him wanted to refuse them out of spite—that they would think to protect him with lies, like a swaddled _babe_ —he saw the wisdom in the words they spake as well as those they didn’t. He granted their request with honest gratitude, and no small relief. Hikari truly had a way of conjuring the impossible, and lighting the darkest day with hope.

 

The adventurer’s companions left first, leaving Hikari to trail after them, at his own meandering pace. Only, he didn’t, turning back to face the desk with a wry and clever grin.

 

Aymeric could not have said that he was surprised. He could not, in fact, have said much of anything at all, because his worries had faded to someplace far away. The moment the Hyur’s expressive body language and changed and his hips had tilted towards play, he found he could only wait for the other man to speak.

 

There had been something important on his mind. But all he could hear were the whispers of coming pleasure, and for just a moment he could put the world aside. The door clicked shut somewhere in the echoing distance. And the warrior stalked toward Aymeric like a wolf cornering his prey.

 

“You should probably know,” he said, in that husky half-growl. “You make this face when you know I’m going to give you a present. It’s like...” he bit his lip in thought, then shrugged, seating himself on the edge of the desk and looking only halfway over his shoulder at Aymeric, as though he didn’t really care. “It makes me ridiculously _hard_ , that’s what it is,” he finished plainly.

 

Aymeric had been considering the need to cross his legs, but the remark made him hold his ground and relax pointedly against the back of the chair. He frowned lightly and narrowed his eyes, but truly, it didn’t displease him. He found himself strangely comfortable with the other man’s nearness, almost wanting him to come closer, that they might be bound more tightly in conspiracy and intrigue.

 

Finally a reply asserted itself, gathering slowly like moss on a boulder’s back. There was a sticky thickness to the air, seeming to push back against his movements and slow his words. “That would certainly serve you right,” he said, his own voice gone soft and sore. It seemed to come from someplace unfamiliar within him. A place charged with static gleaned from the surface of his balloons, leading him toward exhilaration.

 

The warrior seemed to shudder to hear it, closing his eyes and breathing quietly through parted lips. Aymeric was fascinated by those lips, suddenly, too busy watching their minute twitching to wonder where the bounds of their friendship aught to lay. He had once been fairly certain that men did not ordinarily confess their erections to one-another—or at least, that Haurchefant had been something of an exception. But the Hyur had erased those boundaries. Just as he had conjured up desire, alchemically transmuted from air and the blood of a tree.

 

Finally the other man’s stillness passed, unnatural and fleeting like the calm before the storm. He flopped gracelessly backwards to lie upon the desk, looking at Aymeric upside-down with a hazy inverted grin.

 

A small thrill passed through the knight’s lower regions, reminding him again of the pleasure he’d begun to associate with the other man’s nearness. He was aware that he should have pushed his chair away, or turned to the side. But his desires lay in the other direction, and Hikari seemed to know it. He smirked as he leaned his head further back toward the floor, arching his back as he threaded his fingers beneath his belt. Gravity appeared to abandon him altogether, letting spikes of his soft brown hair seem to float upwards towards the ground.

 

The Lord Commander was unconcerned with the tilt of the other man’s pelvis as his boot scraped along the far edge of his desk. He only dimly remarked the adventurer’s tongue darting over reddened lips, and payed no attention to the flush of blood rushing to his face. His eyes were locked on Hikari’s belt, where his fingers searched for his prize. And then they were on the bag of balloons that were held aloft. Warmed by another man’s body, but calling to his own.

 

Aymeric received them with a steady hand, though he felt as though the world around him trembled. There was nothing wrong with receiving this gift, nor putting it to use. But he was beginning to wonder at the feelings the other man provoked in him, and the nature of their shared sin.

 

“Another batch of sixteens,” said the adventurer, clearly pleased with himself. He sat up awkwardly and twisted further, laying one knee on the desk in order to look at Aymeric more directly. He barely disturbed the papers beneath him as he moved, and it was too late to chastise him now. It was like that Hikari couldn’t help it anyway; he was as aloof as a house-cat. It was no surprise that he would be drawn to whatever surface would support his weight, or was bathed in enough sunlight to warm him. “I think I’m getting the hang of the formula now,” said the Hyur with an air of significance. “I should be able to try the twenty-fours next.”

 

Aymeric hadn’t the faintest idea what he was supposed to take from the information. But he nodded as he secreted the bag into his own clothing, too relieved to care about aught else. Every new supply of the things eased a growing anxiety within him, that he might be left one day without his treasures, never to hold again.

 

With the charge of magic Hikari’s presence seemed to invoke, he found himself oddly complacent in his presence. He could have declared himself a teacup and the knight might have agreed, perhaps put some water on to boil.

 

Hikari blinked at him, a languid sphynx perched on his desk, full of puzzles and snares for the sane of mind. “I’m going to be gone for a long time, I think,” he said. The words were wrapped in significance, like a parcel full of sweets. Only when Aymeric failed to fully unwrap their meaning did he continue, pressing cautiously into the soft silence that hung between them.

 

“You haven’t spoken to Haurchefant yet,” he said gently. “If you need to talk about it, now’s probably the time.”

 

The stone walls of Aymeric’s office twisted around him, aligning to a completely different axis of guilt. No, he had not spoken to Haurchefant. Every time he had thought of it, a knot had formed in his stomach that had only seemed to grow with time.

 

He had not been avoiding him, at first. But now it seemed he was, and he closed his eyes in shame to think he had so shirked his duty after his heartfelt confession. Surely this was another sin, compounding upon his first. “No,” he said presently. “I had meant to apologize… for my cruelty in consenting to kiss him, and… for what transpired between us, as well. But I find I cannot bear to think of it. I know not even the words to name mine affliction.”

 

Hikari’s fair brows carried naught but sympathy, when Aymeric once more had strength to behold him. He was like some sort of saint. Of lost causes, suffering smallfolk, and mysterious infatuations. No matter the burden, he would take it upon his shoulders. The fate of Ishgard, yes. Or something as simple as a wounded heart.

 

And then the Hyur smiled, the wistfulness of love lost but never mourned. “Say as much or as little as you need to,” he answered, his words soft like the footprint of a deer in the snow. “He’ll understand. Even if you just tell him that you need more time, or don’t know what to say. He’s got a big heart. He’ll understand, I promise. Even if you tell him everything, he’ll understand.”

 

Aymeric looked to his hip in reflexive disbelief, though his balloons were tucked well away from his own narrowed eyes. “I somehow doubt that,” he muttered. The whole thing filled him with a sort of despair. It was something that needs be done, he knew, and yet, it seemed somehow more difficult than quelling Nidhogg’s invasion. He could fight dragons. But he had no clue how to put name to the wriggling fears in his own heart. Perhaps he hadn’t even the bravery to see his friend smile once more. He frowned himself to think of it, laying his elbow on the desk and leaning thoroughly into it, absently tangling his fingers in his own curls.

 

The adventurer was silent when he needed to be, breathing softly enough that Aymeric could almost have forgotten he was there. Only when the knight looked up at him, bereft of a reply, did he venture to fill the space with his own quiet thoughts.

 

They formed a question, gentle but insistent. And utterly unexpected.

 

“Do you love him?”

 

“No,” replied the knight without thought, “that was why...” but something in the warrior’s gaze told him to look deeper, to quiet his lips and his assumptions for a moment, and simply _feel_. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, and for just a moment, let in the emotions he’d tried to push away, avoiding the other man as long as he had.

 

Sinking, lusterless dread. Sharp prickles of fear, at the prospect of losing a friend, perchance never seeing him again, or of their relationship altering beyond recognition. Breathless anxiety, brassy guilt. Loss. Long, twining strings of it, binding his feet and his lips. The feeling that even if he salvaged their friendship, there was something else long gone that he couldn’t bear to acknowledge.

 

Heartbreak. Maybe not love. But what he felt was rather like the shattered remains of it. A sense that a possibility had been forever closed from him.

 

“Yes,” he said, opening his eyes and seeing the other man anew. He felt a sudden pang of jealousy, long-suppressed between their strange, indirect flirtation. “I do not _want_ him. And yet, there are feelings there.”

 

Hikari smiled sadly, his cheeks gone rosy and round. “Love and attraction don’t have to go together. The question is, if you _could_ have a relationship with him, what would you _want_ it to look like?”

 

It was a ridiculous enough question that for a moment, no words emerged from Aymeric’s open mouth. Finally he managed, “he has _you_. I’ve already sinned by what little we have shared. I refuse even to _consider_ compounding the error!”

 

The adventurer straightened and slid from the desk, not concerned the least by the outburst, merely chuckling gently. “I’m not the jealous type,” he said, letting a lecherous grin slide onto his face once he turned again to lean forward on his palms. “He knows this, incidentally, though I’ll certainly make it clear again when I say my goodbyes. And I couldn’t think of anybody I’d rather share with than you. I’m not saying you have to or even _should_ start anything. I’m just saying… whatever it is you’re feeling, you’d benefit from getting it in the open. And… don’t be so sure he won’t understand the balloons. _I’m_ his boyfriend, remember?”

 

And then the adventurer winked, turning away, with an astonished Lord Commander swept away in his wake. So astonished that he still had nothing to say, not even a thought troubling his mind, when Hikari paused at the door to examine him with a mixture of pity and pleasure. “Just don’t let anything stop you from being his friend, okay? Just promise me that? You both mean far too much to me to watch you let him go.”

 

With the warrior’s hand on the door, reality was beginning to seep through it once more, slipping under the crack along the floor. He had been midway through coordinating a massive retaliation, though he’d known full well the folly. Now he could instead concentrate his forces on the defense of his people. But first he had to tug back against the strings of government that sought to bind him to his previous course.

 

He would not see his own bed for several days at least, though he was sure he’d miss the companionship of his balloons when he collapsed, exhausted, on the nearest furniture to hand. But he shrugged away the thought for his own comfort, just as he now had to put aside his dread. “I won’t be able to spare the time for a few days,” he said hesitantly. “But I will speak to him when I can.” He owed Haurchefant that much, at least.

 

More, perhaps. But he would not think of that now, lest it turn him from the path he needed to walk. No, he wouldn’t think about _that_ at all.

 

It was enough for Hikari. The adventurer smiled warmly, his teeth peeking through like the last rays of the sun. “Thanks. You won’t regret it. You’ll feel better once you talk to him.”

 

The knight smiled ruefully in response, heartened at least by the warrior’s simple faith. “Stay safe,” he said in place of his own worries, a talisman against his fear.

 

Hikari smiled more broadly, his teeth cutting a roguish swath across an otherwise innocent face. “I’ll always come back,” he said, no swagger, only fact. “And I’ll do my damndest to keep Alphinaud safe. I’ll even take care of Estinien, if he’s nice.”

 

Aymeric could at least be assured that the last was clearly a lie. Hikari would protect anyone under his care. Even Estinien at his worst.

 

Perhaps that’s why, in all this madness, he had trusted the adventurer. Why even now, he couldn’t refuse his heartfelt request. It had already been his duty to speak to Haurchefant. But now, perhaps, he knew what to say.

 

He simply feared where the words might lead him.


End file.
